The Duke Of Alsworth
by Connoisseur97
Summary: Edward Cullen, the cold and ruthless Duke of Alsworth had sworn off of love, yet he was captivated by her and vows to possess her. He will not stop at anything to make her his. On Hiatus, not abandoned.
1. Chapter 1

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 **The first sight**

Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth, glowered coldly at the woman in front of him, yet she jabbered on unaware.

But then again, Lady Jessica Stanley, the daughter of the Earl of Stanford was not known for her wits. The woman could barely tell one end of the broom from the other.

Unfortunately, she was also the type of vapid hussies who flocked around him.

Being a Duke, who was also one of the most powerful members of the peerage and the scion of an illustrious and extremely wealthy family, garnered him great attention. Furthermore, his bachelorhood and lack of attachment with any lady was enough to have match-making Mamas and their equally eager daughters, flock around him like ravens about a piece of carrion.

And as if that were not enough, the young Duke also cut an impressive and a very handsome figure. High cheekbones, strong jawline, tousled hair that were a brilliant amalgam of red, golden and brown- a beautiful shade of bronze and his strapping, lean stature, gave him quite the look of a perfect specimen of a virile male...a pagan God of masculinity. However, it were his eyes, which were the colour of a tropical lagoon-an enchanting shade of emerald, which captivated the ladies.

The intense eyes that gave the impression as if he could see through a person, the eyes that had never held any warmth or emotions of gaiety; the ones which had always emoted a terrifying coldness and ruthlesness, which marked his personality.

Yet, it still did not stop women to seek him out, for what mattered the personality of a husband who had more wealth than the combined coffers of several of the peerage?

Hence, the unmindful rhapsodizing of Lady Jessica, another of money-grubbing social climbers who had deluded herself to be in love with the handsome Duke.

It was the same sordid tale everywhere he went and tonight was no different.

He had no idea how wrong he was!

It was as he yearned to control his mounting ire, when it happened. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spied a flash of a delicate shade of sapphire, which for some reason, commanded his attention.

He glanced up instinctively, and his breath caught. His eyes locked with pools of molten chocolate so deep, that he felt himself drowning in their endless depth. They brimmed with an innocence so pure, so pious, the likes of which he had never experienced. Like a siren's call they entranced him and he stared in her eyes, unable to tear himself away from her. He doubted that the beauty of her eyes could be captured by even the greatest of Masters.

All too soon, the owner of those enchanting eyes averted her gaze from his, blushing furiously and Edward was mesmerised. He watched as a most delectable shade of crimson adorned her ivory cheeks. Lustrous mahogany curls were set atop her head in an elaborate hairdo, a few rebellious tendrils framing her delicate, heart-shaped face. She was small, her petite frame clad in a simple gown of sapphire, which embraced her soft curves most becomingly. Her flawless skin was flushed beguilingly and radiated a healthy glow in the bright light of multiple sconces that lit the cavernous hall. Her fragile fingers clutched her reticule tightly, as she turned away from him slightly, perhaps uncomfortable with his intense scrutiny.

At this, Edward took a step forward, to stop her, to beseech her to not hide her beautiful face from him. He felt like a blind man who beheld the sun for the first time, her beauty rivalled with the Aphrodite herself!

However, at that moment, hands clutched at his arms as Lady Jessica all but hung onto him, a coquettish smile on her face. Impatiently, the Duke turned towards her, wrenching himself free from her claws with a hasty excuse.

But, as he turned around, he found, to his deep consternation, that he had lost his beauty in the swell of the crowd of the theater. Angered with Lady Jessica, he threw her a look of deep disdain and hastily set out to search for the lady who had so captivated him, but to no avail.

As he walked, scrutinising each and every face, he was unaware of the people who greeted him and took offence at his ignoring them so blatantly. But, propriety mattered not for him, for he was determined to find her, his beauty.

So, like a man possessed,he searched for her, a strange void gaping in his chest. Although he was loath to admit of her power on him, in his heart of hearts he knew he missed her desperately. Even though he had beheld her for mere moments, it had been enough to captivate him. It was as if she had cast a spell on him, robbing him of his senses. He had never felt so unsettled, so...empty.

His search was, however cut short as the bell signalling the start of the play, _Much ado about nothing,_ rang, and he had to reluctantly move towards his box with others.

"Edward, what is it?" His Aunt, Lady Esme Cullen, the Countess of Eldenworth, questioned, picking on his restlesness.

She had been his mother in everything but blood, for his mother had died when he was six. Lady Esme had raised him as her own, insisting that he be left with her at Alton Woods, their ancestral home. She did not wish to leave him with his father. Edmund Cullen, the then Duke of Alsworth, and Edward's father, had been a cold man who indulged in every possible vice imaginable.

He gambled, visited numerous brothels and had multiple mistreresses. His only redeeming quality had been that at least he had been careful enough to not to sire bastards, else perhaps a quarter of London would have been teeming with his illegitimate children. He had been a libertine of epic proportion.

And in the end, his own actions had caught up with him, as he succumbed to a disease born owing to his own vice. Although the ton thought that the old Duke had died due to consumption, only she, her husband, Lord Carlisle Cullen, the Earl of Eldenworth, who was incidentally also Edmund's cousin, and Edward knew the truth. Edmund Cullen, the sixth Duke of Alsworth, had succumbed to French disease.

So, as she watched Edward restlessly scan the crowd, his face which always wore an impenetrable mask of impassivity and coldness, alit with anticipation and frustration, she instinctively knew that something had happened.

"Its nothing, Aunt. I am merely eager to see the play, for I have heard rave reviews of the competency and prowess of this group." He lied smoothly, and to an outsider,it was a perfect excuse, for he was indeed known for his knowledge and interest in literature, but Esme knew better.

Although, she chose to not press her nephew further, she observed him quietly and hence, was quite astounded when she saw his face light up. She had never seen an expression of such great rapture on his face, ergo she followed his sight and nearly had a coronary!

Eyes wide with disbelief, she glanced from Edward to the young lady and back, the poise for which she was known in the ton, forgotten. At first, she wondered if she had had too much wine and was tipsy, but when her nephew continued to gaze at the young lady with the look of a parched man, who came upon an oasis in a desert, her suspicions were confirmed. Her nephew was infatuated.

A huge smile spread across her face and it was all she could do to not break in fits of giggles and clapping like a young girl. That shall surely land her in Bedlam!

Still, even with the imminent threat of Bedlam, she was unable to hide her glee which did not go unnoticed by either her husband or son.

"Darling?" Lord Carlisle asked perplexed, bemused to find his wife so excited, for she was all but vibrating in her seat with giddiness.

"Oh, look at him! How he stares at her! Finally after so many years, and it is no wonder, for she is indeed so beautiful. Now, I must only find her identity and then the Archbishop..." Lady Esme whispered frantically, her happiness clouding her wits.

"What are you talking about, Mother?" Lord Emmet Cullen, the Viscount Aberly asked.

Lady Esme turned with great annoyance to her husband and son and discreetly pointed out Edward who was oblivious to them, lost as he was in staring at his beauty.

Both the Earl and the Viscount gaped unattractively at the Duke and performed the same motion of bewildered gazing as Lady Esme. However, unlike her they were rendered speechless, for it was indeed a miracle to find Edward staring so unabashedly at a woman, when he had always sworn off of the fairer sex.

"Oh, Carlisle, look how he stares at her. We must find out who she is." She whispered, leaning on her husband.

"That's the Box of Barringtons, the Duke of Wiltshire." Lord Emmet murmured, peering through his opera glasses.

"And an illustrious family too. Perhaps she is a relative. This is getting better!" Lady Esme squealed, rubbing her hands together.

So, for the rest of duration of the play, whilst Edward spent staring at the young lady, his Aunt, Lady Esme spent scheming as to how soon she could get her nephew to enter matrimony with the young girl. Even her husband's comment to not get too excited, for they knew not whether the girl was unmarried, fell on deaf ear. Somehow, Lady Esme was confident as to the girl still being a maiden.

All too soon, the play ended and the lights dimmed, breaking the Duke's abstraction.

"What a splendid play it was. Won't you agree, Cousin?" The Viscount grinned mischievously.

"Ah, yes it was." The Duke replied calmly, and led the way out of the theatre.

All around them people laughed and chatted merrily, but Edward followed the young lady who so commanded his attention. As he watched, she threw her head back and giggled, exposing her swan-like neck, and he gulped, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

However, his good humour vanished and a fearsome scowl marred his face as a man walked up to her and kissed her gloved hand. Edward watched as she blushed prettily, but the shy smile that she gave him cemented his resolve.

From a tender age, Edward had borne witness to such callousness and cruelty which no child should experience. He was broken beyond repair, too bitter and caustic. He saw no good in people and never allowed them near him, except his uncle's family. He had sworn off of love, for he believed it to be a mere illusion.

The flight of fancy of fools.

All that spoke was money, influence and power. Hence, he had strived to have them, to be formidable and unstoppable, donning a mask of coldness, for years.

Yet here he was.

His years of rigid control was rendered to shreds by a mere slip of a girl. He was unmanned, the emotions he had never felt, rising in his chest.

Throughout the night, he had warred with himself, his shadowy past refusing to allow him to feel...whatever it was he was feeling for the lady, yet one look at her with another man, solved his dilemma.

He had to simply possess her, to make her his. He had to tie her to him in every possible way.

Any beau or husband of hers shall be done away with, for he cannot bear the thought of another with her.

He was Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth, who had always gotten what he had desired, and by God, he shall have her.

There were simply no two ways about it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own twilight.**

 **Hey guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope you like this chapter too.**

 **Compromised**

"She was Miss Isabella Swan, sister of the Duchess of Wiltshire, Lady Rosalie." Lady Esme murmured.

They were ensconced in the front parlour of the Midfair House- the London townhouse of the Earl of Eldenworth- after partaking in lunch. Lady Esme stared avidly at her nephew whilst she answered her son, Lord Emmet, who had on her behest given her an opening by enquring about the lady. Through her connections and friends, she had painstakingly found out everything she could about the young lady who had done the impossible of capturing her nephew's heart.

Throughout the Lunch, Lady Esme had tried everything she could to get Edward to confess his infatuation with the said lady, but to no avail. She could as well have been pushing against a wall for all the progress she made. Frustrated with his evasiveness, she finally decided to take a gamble and discreetly signalled her son to mention Miss Swan.

"Indeed?" Lord Emmet questioned, an impish look on his face as he swiftly glanced at his silent cousin who was hiding behing his usual mask of aloofness...and failing.

"Oh, yes. She is in London with her sister."

"Is the period of mourning of the Duchess at an end?" Lord Carlisle asked.

"Yes, it is. It has been over a year since the Duke died. May God rest his soul." Lady Esme said emphatically, to which Lord Emmet snorted and earned a glare from her.

"It is indeed very thoughtful of Miss Swan to be with her sister and nephew in their time of grief."

"And she is so very beautiful too! And having such exalted connection to the Duchess of Wiltshire will only serve to enhance her desirability as a prospective wife. I shall be truly surprised if she is still unattached by the end of this season, for only a fool shall not try to covet such a great beauty." Lord Emmet commented glibly, and then decided to increase his cousin's discomfort.

"Perhaps you will be so kind as to let me know about all the balls and events the Barringtons are supposed to attend, Mother? With God's grace I may get you a daughter-in-law." This earned him a furious glare from Edward.

"Nothing shall make me happier! Although if I were you, I will hasten to make a move on Miss Swan, for if rumours are to be believed, she may soon be betrothed to Right Honourable Jacob Black, the heir of the Baron of Weston. Lady Tadderly, who is an old aquaintance of the Blacks, told me of the strong friendship between both the families. Indeed, the friendship of Mr Charles Swan, the father of Miss Isabella and Baron Black goes back to their days in Cambridge."

"Black did seem to be rather interested in the lady." Lord Carlisle observed, contributing to his wife's mission, which earned him a glowing smile from her.

"Oh, that boy is in love with her."Lady Esme revealed her trump card, and settled back in her chair to observe the effect of her careful goading.

"And according to Lady Tadderly, has held such _passion_ for Miss Swan for quite a few years."

Although she only sought to push her formidable nephew into action regarding Miss Swan, Lady Esme was truly worried. She had both seen and heard of Jacob's attachment to Isabella. Moreover, she had also observed Baron and Baroness Black with the lady in question, which had only served to increase her anxiety.

They treated her as parents would, a beloved child. It was as if she was already a part of their family-their daughter.

However, as Lady Esme observed the stormy eyes and cold and calculating mien of the Duke of Alsworth, instead of satisfaction at successfully unnerving him, she felt a shiver of dread.

A foreboding.

May God give strength to Miss Isabella Swan to deal with the headstrong Duke of Alsworth.

* * *

Edward watched Miss Swan flutter around the ballroom like a woodland nymph. The crimson gown that had the incomparable honour of draping her delectable form, looked absolutely fetching with her ivory skin. Her mahogany curls were perfectly coiffed and made him yearn to release them from their confines of the jewelled pins, to run his fingers through them, to clutch them whilst he tasted the ambrosia of her sweet lips...

He decided to not allow her to tie her hair in any way in the privacy of their chambers, after their marriage.

And as if her very presence was not enough to intoxicate him, she also had to torture him with that...with that pendent.

The ruby pendent which was nestled between the gentle swell of her breasts; the neckline of her gown flaunting a teasingly modest clevage, which made him _ache_ to see more, yet infuriated him at the same time.

Apparently, he was not the only one entranced by that innocent temptress. Every man, whether married or otherwise, was vying for her attention, nearly gravitating towards her, the gazes of many of whom often moved to her bosom, making his blood boil.

And Edward derived a savage pleasure from imagining various ways to injure those men terribly.

He had never been so enchanted with anyone in his life. He had never been with a lady, never having seen much of an appeal in the pleasure of flesh. His Uncle had indeed taken him and his cousin to the Harcourt House* to get them initiated, as was the custom with the rich, but he had vehemently refused to take up with a prostitute.

The scars from his horrendous childhood had never allowed him to feel any sort of _physical stirrings._ Even the thought of it had caused a shiver of disgust to run down his spine as he remembered the horrors he had witnessed.

The monster, insatiable lust created.

The black and blue imprints of hand, the torn lips, black eyes, broken bones, disclocated shoulders, chafed wrists...the _death!_

Edward shook his head, trying to shove back the darkness of his past and concentrate on her...Isabella. She was named so astutely, the epitome of innocence and pure feminine beauty.

For what appeared to be the thousandth times since he had first laid his eyes on her, he wondered what it was about her that appealed to him so. That unfettered him from the manacles of his past...which made him _feel!_

He had never felt even a shadow of fondness for any of the fairer sex, except his Aunt Esme and his Cousin Alice. His mother was another matter altogether!

Yet, here was a slip of a girl who so affected him, in more than one ways. He had always worried that he might never get an heir, given his lack of _reaction_ to the feminine wiles. And there had been no lack of willing females. He still remembered the outrageous stunt of many of them to seduce him, with no less amusement and disgust.

Yet, it did not seem to be a problem with _her._ He had never ached, never throbbed so in his entire life!

Perhaps it was her lack of guile and artifice, her compassion which called to him, the likes of which he had rarely seen or experienced.

For it can surely not be love- that folly of fools.

Besides, he had to have a heart for _that!_

Whatever it was, at least she was bearable,...more than bearable. His problem of siring an heir was soon to be solved.

For past few days, he had his sources do a thorough research on her. He had attended balls and dinners to observe her himself. And the result only served to emphasise the goodness of her character.

She was kind, compassionate, learned, intelligent, decent and inherently good.

She was perfect for him.

Now, he only had to reach out and take her - to make her his- from right under the noses of all those men who flocked around her as ants about jaggery.

And especially from that _despicable_ Jacob Black, who has commissioned an engagement ring for her, as his sources had informed him.

* * *

Miss Isabella Swan was weary. As she stared up at the moon, she wished, not for the first time, that she could go home.

She was a simple country girl who was used to a _simple_ society. Oh yes, there were gossips and rumours, the schemes of match-making Mamas, and endless talk of lace, silk and fripperies in a country assemply too, but at least there was not such blatant viciousness in nearly the entirety of the populace, except a few.

The cunning, malevolence and lasciviousness that marked many members of the peerage which was barely hidden by their artifice and charade of civility and refinement.

Although the owners of a truly good and kind character were not an absolute rarity, still the arrogance and hypocrisy of others had worn her out. The innuendos carefully masked with appropriate politeness, the snide remarks and an eagerness to malign anyone given the opportunity, tired her, but she took it in stride. There was a stubbornness in her which refused to let her be intimidated.

And then she did meet truly genuine people like Lady Esme, the host of tonight's ball. She and her husband were very well-matched, both so kind and compassionate, and they seemed to hold each other in great affection.

Anyone with eyes could tell that they were deeply in love with each other.

A perfect marriage- a complete rarity!

Abruptly her mood darkened as her thoughts turned to her sister's marriage to Royce Barrington, the late Duke of Wiltshire.

An excuse for a human being, the worst of cads who was no better than insects that abounded in drainage!

Before her marriage, Rosalie had been so full of life, so vibrant. She had been beautiful inside out. Compassionate, kind, loving, joyful, _happy!_

Each of which was beaten out of her cruelly.

Royce had beaten her, tortured her for his sick amusement and broken her spirit thoroughly, till nothing of her was left, till she lost herself completely, till she became no better than a corpse.

A living corpse.

Had it not been for little Reginald, her son, Isabella had no doubt whatsoever that her sister would have killed herself. Rosalie had paid for the greed and ambition of others.

Their mother's.

Mrs. Reneé Swan, whom they had the misfortune of having as a Mother, was a shrewd, cold and calculating woman who loved nothing but money and power. She had groomed her two daughters like stallions to be bartered to the highest bidders for enhancement of her social status.

When Royce had seen Rosalie in a ball in London and gotten infatuated with her, Mrs. Swan had done everything she possibly could to further the match. Despite being very well acquainted with Royce's proclivities. Every other day, the scandal sheets used to be filled with the tales of his debauchery- drunken brawling, dueling, gambling exorbitant amount of money, appearing in public places with well-known courtesans on his arms...

Yet, she had not cared for the wellbeing of her daughter. She had been too obssesed with the idea of the great households and influential families who would open their doors for her as the mother-in-law of the Duke of Wiltshire. She had insisted that visiting brothels and having mistresses was a mark of richness of coffers, an acceptable practice amongst the peers.

Infidelity of the husband mattered not if he could afford the best money could buy.

All Rosalie had to do was to give him an heir to secure the line of Barringtons. Thereafter, she could easily turn her husband away from her bed.

In Mrs Swan's opinion, it was a paltry price to pay for a life of comfort and luxury.

But Rosalie had paid for it. Dearly.

And now the woman who called herself their mother, was forcing her to accept Jacob whenever he asked for her hand in marriage. The Blacks were very wealthy and had excellent connections, on which Reneé now had her eyes.

At least Jacob was no degenerate like Royce and even loved her.

Yet, Isabella could not bring herself to see him as her husband, as a partner for life. Yes, she did love him, but she was not _in_ love with him. She loved him as one would a sibling- quite opposite of what he desired from her.

But she knew she had no choice. As she was only eighteen years old, she still came within the authority of her father, Mr. Charles Swan. He could force her to marry Jacob and even Rosalie, for all her connection and money, will be unable to help her as according to law, till she turned one and twenty, her father had all the power on her to do with her as he pleased.

A father who was completely under her mother's thumbs.

She sometimes wondered if he will readily throw himself off of a mountain if her mother so desired, but immediately chided herself for her unkind thoughts. Her father was not bad. He just hated confrontation, especially with her mother whom he loved dearly, despite never getting even an ounce of his feelings in return.

Sighing, Isabella shook her head and left the balcony for the ballroom. If she remained absent for long, she will unnecessarily worry, nay, _frighten_ Rosalie. Her sister protected her with the tenacity and fury of Mama Bear.

Throwing one last, wistful glance at the star-studded sky, she turned to re-trace her steps back to the cavernous hall where the tonight's revelry was being held.

It was when she was in the corridor leading to the ballroom, walking towards its entrance, when it happened. A gentleman emerged from a dimly lit passage that led further inside the house, and appeared in front of her so suddenly, that neither she nor he could do anything to prevent their collision. He stepped on her gown which caused her to lose her balance and fall on him.

Isabella just caught a glimpse of a pair of startled eyes before she was falling with him as he was unable to support her weight with such rapidity and had lost his balance too. With a resounding crash, they fell to the ground, with her atop him and his arms around her. A crystal vase which was pushed from its perch due to one of their flailing limbs, crashed to pieces beside them.

The ruckus they created was enough to have all the guests come spilling out in the corridor. Not that they could have avoided attracting everyone's attention as they had fallen in the plain sight of the entrance.

"Bella!" She heard her sister screech before she was helped up. Tears of humiliation filled Isabella's eyes as she heard gigglings and twittering. She blushed furiously as Rosalie wrapped her shawl around her person to hide her torn dress.

She was compromised.

A fate dreaded by every decent young lady.

The other guests did not even bother to keep their voices down as they gossiped about her...her and the gentleman who had unwittingly compromised her.

"Let me through! What is happening here?" Isabella heard Lady Esme command. Moments later, she heard a gasp.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lady Esme demanded.

Isabella heard as someone narrated the unfortunate incident to her. She did not dare raise her eyes, for she knew she will not be able to hold her composure if she met the judgemental stares. Hence, she was surprised when she was engulfed in a pair of arms.

"Oh my dear child! I am so sorry." Lady Esme cooed as she embraced her awkwardly, for Rosalie too kept her arms around her.

"But she has _compromised the Duke!_ She must have conspired to engage his honour in such a shameful manner." A nasal voice screeched.

Tears that she had till now kept at bay, spilled from her eyes. She had never been so mortified.

"Please desist from making such assumptions Lady Jessica! It was clearly an accident." Lady Esme rebuked sharply.

"But..."

"You will speak respectfully about my betrothed, Madam." A velvet voice cut Lady Jessica's protestation.

The entirety of the crowd gasped collectively. Isabella raised her head, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

"I shall marry Miss Swan in a sennight." Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth announced, as his eyes bore into hers.

The same emerald green eyes which had haunted her since the night of the play.

* * *

 ***Harcourt House-** It was one of the high-end brothels where the rich and famous generally took their sons to have sex for the first time. It was a very common practice during those times and considered an important ritual for their entrance into manhood.

 ***** In regency era, till they turned 21, girls came within the purview of authority of their fathers.

 ***sennight-** a week.

 **Reviews?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

 **Troyis, I cannot give you a fix schedule for updates as I pen them down in bits and pieces when I take a break from studies. However, I try to post at least one update of each of my stories every week.**

 **Now on with the next chapter. Hope you like it.**

 **Confrontation**

The shocked silence after the Duke of Alsworth's announcement was pierced by a furious voice.

"You cannot do that! Miss Swan is..." Right Honourable Jacob Black, the heir of the Baron of Weston and a rival for Isabella's affection, emerged from the crowd, his eyes ablaze with fury.

But he was interrupted by his father, Baron Black, who could see the expression of intense eagerness and anticipation on the faces of a majority of the guests. Knowing that providing fodder for gossip was only going to earn them more ridicule, he immediately intervened.

"Perhaps we should take this somewhere private, Lord Carlisle," And with a great reluctance and growing disquiet, he added, "Your Grace?"

Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth who was staring at his greatest rival, Jacob Black with such a malevolent glint in his stormy green eyes, which could have struck fear in most hardened of men, made no reply. However, the Earl promptly reacted to assist Baron Black to preserve the dignity and pride of both the families.

"Of course, we can make use of my study." He nodded and turned to the guests.

"I apologise most heartily for the disruption. Please do not cease to enjoy the ongoing revelry on our account," The Earl turned to his son, "Emmet, see to it that our guests are not left wanting. Please excuse us, we shall tarry only momentarily...Now, Esme?"

"Of course, my Lord. Come along, dear. You too, Lady Rosalie." Lady Esme led the two women to her chambers to get Isabella's gown mended, whilst the men retired to the study.

As soon as the huge oak doors closed behind them, Jacob Black unleashed his barely controlled fury.

"You cannot marry Isabella. She is promised to me!" He growled.

"Tell me Black," Edward drawled without giving his rival, even the barest courtesy of using his rightful appellation for being the son of a Baron, "did you seek permission of Miss Isabella's father to court her?"

"No, but I..."

"Did you propose and she accepted your suit?"

"No, that doesn't..."

"Was there a betrothal? Were the banns read?...An announcement in the Times, perhaps?"

"No, there was not." Jacob replied reluctantly, his face flushing a deep puce.

"Then, it will do you a lot of good to not spread falsehood about _my_ betrothed." The Duke warned in a frigid tone.

"But I have known and loved Isabella since childhood. We are destined to be together, to be joined in matrimony. It is the dearest wish of both our parents and you..."

"You are labouring under a misapprehension, then. Miss Swan is to be _my bride,_ not yours. The sooner you accept this truth, the better. And if you know what is good for you, then you will refrain from referring to Miss Swan by her christian name. As her betrothed, it is my right to address her so, not yours." Edward said coldly, green eyes flashing.

"But, Your Grace, it was an accident that you compromised Miss Swan. You need not be forced into matrimony. The situation can be easily rectified. My son can marry her and take the matter entirely out of your hand. The Swans have been our friends for years, and I can assure you that they will not raise an objection in any way and you can..." Baron Black tried to come to his son's aid.

He knew of the deep love that Jacob harboured for Isabella and could not bear to witness his heartbreak.

"Do not tell me what I can or can't do, Baron Black. I shall marry Miss Swan, or rather I should call her _Isabella,_ now that she is mine, as soon as I aquire a Special Licence. And nothing you say or do will change that." The Duke said smoothly, leaning against the liquor cabinet whilst he poured himself a generous amount of brandy.

"But I love her! I love her and I will not stand by and watch her get married to you. She is mine and..." The angry words of Jacob Black finally shattered the Duke's composure.

In three strides, he was in his rival's face, staring him down with a murderous fury so terrifying that even his uncle, who had practically raised him as his son since boyhood, flinched.

"A word to the wise, Black. It _never_ pays to get on the wrong side of those who are much more powerful than you. The consequences can be _dire!"_ Edward sneered.

Baron Black was a very wise man who had a lifetime of experience. Hence, he had no trouble at all in sensing the underlying threat. For some reason, the Duke was tenaciously intent on marrying Isabella, and any protest on their part will only land them in more trouble. His family was rich and connected, but a comparison between his and the Duke's wealth and power was about as absurd as comparing the dim light of a lantern with the brightness of the sun.

Absolutely incomparable.

An enmity with the Duke of Alsworth, who was known for his ruthlesness and a complete lack of kindness, empathy and generosity- his cruelty and coldness which bordered on being inhuman, will only prove detrimental for his family. And he still had two daughters to marry, to give their hands to worthy suitors in marriage.

He could not afford to infuriate the Duke.

Baron Black had no doubts whatsoever, that if the words of their discord with the Duke of Alsworth spread, then the entirety of the ton will ostracise his family.

With a heavy heart, he turned to his son and was pained to see sorrow and hopelesness etched on his face.

Yet, there was nothing he could do.

For all his riches and connection, Billius Black, the Baron of Weston, could not promise his only son, Isabella, whom Jacob loved more than himself. He was wise enough to recognise when the field of battle did not even exist.

"We should leave, son." He murmured softly, getting hold of Jacob's arm and leading him away.

After throwing one last look of deepest loathing at the Duke, Jacob Black walked out of the study with his father.

As soon as the heavy doors closed behind them, Lord Carlisle Cullen, the Earl of Eldenworth, who had been silently observing the argument till now, turned to his nephew whom he loved as his son.

"It was no accident. You compromised Miss Swan on purpose." He stated, affixing the Duke with a stern stare.

Edward met his gaze with a mask of calmness, his ire forgotten.

"It was an unfortunate accident, Uncle. I do not know as to why you think otherwise." He replied blandly, yet Lord Carlisle could detect an amalgam of smugness and mockery in his voice.

"Do not play me for a fool, Edward! What you did was wrong. Tonight, you have crossed every line of decency. Do the values taught by me and Esme, hold so little import for you that you did not hesitate even once before humiliating that poor girl so? Do you have any concept at all of the ridicule, judgement and vicious vilification you have set her up for? You are protected by your title, _Your Grace,_ but Miss Swan does not have that comfort. The ton will calumniate her persistently. A woman's reputation is not something to be trifled with." The Earl berated, his ire mounting.

"I never, _never_ expected this of you, Edward. A woman is not a chattle or a property to possess. Miss Swan deserved to be wooed, to have a choice whether to choose you as a partner for life or not, but you have left her at point non-plus. You have done her a great disservice." Lord Carlisle spat, his disappointment clearly evident.

"You are your father's son through and through!"

His words incensed the Duke, who had been, till then listening to his monologue without interruption.

"Don't you _dare!_ You do not know...you did not see," Edward trembled with the force of his anger, "I am not my father, Lord Carlisle and I never will be!" He spat and then marched out of the study leaving his remorseful and agitated Uncle behind.

Lord Carlisle was indeed angered at his scheme to force Miss Swan to accept his hand, yet he was ashamed of the words he had uttered. Although reckless and cold, Edward was not the characterless degenerate his father had been, yet he had still compared them...still uttered those hateful words.

But nothing could be changed. The arrow was shot and no amount of regret could bring it back.

All that was left for Lord Carlisle was to hope that Edward's thoughtless action that night, will not ruin his life...and that he can find it in himself to forgive him someday.

* * *

Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth, entered his aunt's parlour where he was told the ladies were ensconced. On his entrance, they rose gracefully and Lady Rosalie and Miss Swan executed a perfect curtsy. However, he barely acknowledged his aunt and the Duchess as his eyes were riveted on his beautiful fiancé.

He still remembered the manner in which every torturous inch of her warm body had pressed against his, her sweet essence infusing his being. Her perfume of freesias, lavendar and something purely, deliciously feminine had unmanned him. Had Lady Rosalie not helped her up the moment she did, he was not sure he could have resisted a taste of her lips which had been so very close to his, for long.

Just a slight tilt of her chin, a little bend of his head, and then...

"We should leave you two to talk alone. Come Lady Rosalie, you must see that wooden chest made of sandalwood that I have commissioned from India. Why, the _nakkashi_ is so intricate and absolutely beautiful..." Lady Esme chirped as she led the wary Duchess out of the room, leaving Isabella alone with the Duke.

Gathering her courage, Isabella raised her head to gaze at the Duke steadily. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson when she met his intense eyes, which seemed to see right through her. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she opened her mouth to speak.

"You need not marry me, Your Grace. I am well aware that it was an accident and I do not wish to importune you in any way, or to force you in a marriage. Please know that I do not expect anything. As for my honour, I am sure that Jacob..."

"Being _my_ betrothed, I wish for you to not address another man so wholly unconnected to you in such a familiar fashion. You shall not address anyone by their christian name but me, Madam." Edward growled, angered by the mention of Jacob.

Isabella needed to know, to be made aware that she was _his._ He was a possessive man and could not tolerate to have her even think of another man.

Her heart, body and soul was his, and the sooner she accepted that truth, the better.

"As for the marriage, I assure you that I do not feel forced or obligated in any way. We shall be joined in matrimony as soon as I obtain a Special Licence,... _Isabella."_

His sudden anger caused her to flinch.

Edward's face softened when he saw her blanch. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and took several calming breaths.

"I apologise for my harsh words, Miss Swan, but cannot you see how improper it is for you to call Black by his given name? I understand that he has been your friend since childhood, but really given the situation we have found ourselves in, it will only serve to create more speculations and gossip." He said softly.

"I understand perfectly, Your Grace, and apologise for my lapse in propriety. Please rest assured that it shall never be repeated." Isabella murmured, a tantalizing blush suffusing her cheeks, which sang to him.

Entranced, Edward moved towards her like moth drawn to a flame.

"I wish for you to call me by my name. There is no need for use of appellation, now that we are to wed." He said gently, taking her gloved hands in his. Her small hands fit in his large ones perfectly.

"Then, it is only right that you call me Bella, for I find Isabella to be too fancy for me,... Edward." Her blush darkened as she pronounced his name and for Edward, there had been no sight more appealing as her in that moment.

Unable to resist himself, he lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them gently.

"May I call on you tommorrow morning?" He asked, his green eyes intense.

Isabella nodded, too overwhelmed by his proximity to speak and Edward thought that he had never been more pleased.

"Good, then I shall see you come morn. Have a pleasant night, Bella." He murmured, and then with a supreme strength of will, walked away from her towards the door.

He had to pen down a letter to his attorney for drawing up a marriage settlement for his betrothed, and make arrangements for obtaining a Special Licence, both his London townhouse and Pembrook, his estate needed to be prepared for the arrival of their Mistress. He had to inform his staff and get them to open and air the Mistress's chambers. He also had to send a missive to Mr. Charles Swan, informing him about the incident.

Not that the man would dare to deny him his daughter.

No body could keep his Isabella, or rather Bella, away from him, now that he had her, now that she was his.

All in all, he had a lot of work to do, to accomplish.

The ton shall soon witness the union of Edward Cullen, the seventh Duke of Alsworth and Miss Isabella Marie Swan in holy matrimony.

* * *

 ***point non-plus-** A situation where a person has no option.

 ***nakkashi-** An art of intricately carving a rock or wood in great detail. The work is a truly beautiful sight to behold.

 **bobbygirl1976, I hope this chapter satisfactorily answered your question about Jacob. As for Reneé's reaction, I have left that for another update.**

 **Reviews?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for your invaluable reviews and encouragement. They are my driving force.**

 **Sarah,** no Bella is not going to be a wimp or lack a backbone to stand for herself in my story. The reason she did not say anything to the Duke is that, during regency era it was actually considered very improper to address anyone of the opposite sex who was not a family member, by their first name. And if an unattached man or woman did use the name of another single person of the opposite sex, it was considered to be making a statement- that they were betrothed. Had it been any other person like Lady Esme in the Duke's place, they would have scolded her too. So, Edward was merely reminding her of her manners.

 **Stelle's Pen,** the answer to your question is at the end of this chapter. I hope you find it satisfactory.

 **VryUnique,** yes, the women in that era could attend a party or ball unescorted. Hence, even widows were able to attend them.

 **AN: When the previous chapter was first posted, there were some mistakes and accidental ommission of some words. I had forgotten that I did not proof read it after it was done and simply posted it. Even though the errors were removed minutes after the chapter was posted, some of you had already read it, for which I wish to apologise. I know such errors can be both distracting and detracting and I promise that it will be not be repeated in future.**

 **Now on with the next chapter. I have never written anything so 'Explicitly Violent', so I am nervous in posting this update. It just gives a 'peek' into Edward's past. I don't know if I have done justice with it so, let me know your thoughts.**

 **Horrors**

Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth was content.

For the first time in years, he had a night of sleep which was not plagued by the demons of his past. He felt well-rested and peaceful and had no doubts whatsoever that it was due to _her,_ his lovely betrothed.

His Isabella.

The very thought of her as being his flooded him with a satisfaction the likes of which he had never experienced even when he earned thousands of pounds of profit.

There was something about her which entranced him, which made him feel something akin to joy.

Edward had no qualms in admitting that he was completely and utterly besotted with her, his innocent beauty. He thought back to the night before when he last saw her. She had looked so beautiful as she had gazed at him shyly, her wide doe-like eyes staring in his green ones as if she could see his very soul. The crimson so similar to her gown, had adorned her ivory cheeks and called to him, so much so that had he not removed himself immediately from her presence, he would surely have crossed every line of propriety.

He would have peeled away that delicate gown that wrapped around her lissom body like a second skin...done away with every piece of blasted clothing that hid her glorious form from his ravenous eyes...released her chestnut curls from the confines of her jewelled pins like he had _ached_ to do the entire night.

 _Except for that pendent!_ Edward mused as he shifted slightly to make himself comfortable. Even the thought of that ruby pendent which had so tantalized him the night before, nestled between the gentle swell of her breasts, had his blood raging.

He had so wished to take her then, to make her his wife in most primitive of ways, to make love to her and claim her virtue.

To possess her, consume her until all she saw and felt was him.

And no one else.

Lust unfurled in the pit of his stomach and went straight to his groin, making him groan.

 _Dear Lord, I shall surely go mad if I do not have her soon!_ His thoughts were needy.

And have her he shall.

Miss Isabella Swan would soon be his in the eyes of the God and he shall bind her to him in every way he could.

Sighing, Edward shook his head and left his bed to watch the sunrise. He stared out of the window, trying to quell his ardour. It was only when the sun brightened the azure horizon that he was finally able to rein in his _excitement._

Edward rang for his Valet to get ready for the day. He was eager to see his beautiful betrothed again and decided to call on her as soon as the fashionable hours of visit began.

After taking care of some estate business, he finally boarded his carriage to take him to the Barringtons' townhouse which was situated in the Grosvenor Square.

However, when he presented his card to the butler of the Barringtons, the harried look on the man's face alerted him of something untoward.

"What has happened?" He demanded in alarm, but before the other man could speak, he heard a voice, nay, a shout from the doorway which answered his question more than sufficiently.

He had absolutely no trouble whatsoever in recognising that voice.

Right Honourable Jacob Black was with the Barringtons and his Isabella.

Eyes blazing with fury and hatred, Edward moved past the butler towards the front parlour from whence came that loathsome voice.

"...I love you, Bella! And I know you love me too. Come with me to Gretna Green, and we can get married, then we shall never be parted." Jacob shouted as he was held back by two burly footmen who were dragging him away from a whey-faced Isabella.

The Duke spared a concerned glance at his fiancé who was shaking like dried leaves in the embrace of her sister, Lady Rosalie, before advancing towards his greatest adversary.

"I warned you to stay away from _my_ betrothed, but the _muttonhead_ you are, you did not understand it!" Edward spat, glowering at the other man.

The entire room started in unison. Engrossed as they were, none had noticed the presence of the Duke.

Jacob turned to him with such an expression of violence that it could have done credit to a rampaging bull. And Edward noticed the dishevelled state he was in. His cravat was missing, waistcoat crumpled and under shirt untucked. His eyes were bloodshot and hair unkempt. Apparently he had spent the entire night drinking and was still quite heavily in the cups if his slurred speech was anything to go by. Jacob was in no state to be in polite company, let alone that of the ladies and Edward was determined to have him removed from the presence of his fiancé.

"You! You foul, loathsome _bastard!"_ Jacob snarled, making the women squeak indignantly and colour at the use of such crude words.

"Careful, Black. You are crossing the lines of propriety. There are ladies present! You are not amidst a rowdy crowd to behave so crassly. But then again what more could be expected from you? A man who barges in a household of ladies in a state which shall surely mortify even a common cad, and importune _another_ man's betrothed in a most unsavoury fashion! And your language," the Duke sneered, "you have merely wasted your father's money, for your education does you no credit. Why, even a drunkard in a cheap tavern has more manners than you, _Right Honourable Jacob Black._ You, _sir,_ are no gentleman!"

His words incensed Jacob who turned to Isabella.

"Don't you understand..Can you not see how arrogant he is, Bella? He is no different than his father...His father, who was a libertine of the first order who not only betrayed his wife by taking up with courtesans, but also destroyed countless other women whom he violated and kille..." However, Jacob was cut short by a powerful punch to his stomach.

"Oomph!"

Edward was irate. A roar of thunderous fury filled his mind which did not allow him to hear anything, except the words of Jacob Black. Like a man possessed, he punched the man in front of him, his words resounding in his ears.

"He is...a ...Ah...beast... Bella! He wi...ll...break you...Lem...me go!" Jacob shouted as he fought against both Edward and the footmen who held him.

Lost in a haze of rage and loathing...the two human emotions which he was very well acquainted with, Edward had no thoughts but to punish the man in front of him for bringing up his past. A tempest was brewing within him, whipped to a frenzied fury by violent gales of his ire. The bleak images of his past, the ones which he had painstakingly endeavoured to bury in the darkest part of his mind, surfaced again like fiends intent to consume him, to possess him, till there was nothing left.

Edward could once again hear the shouts for mercy, the whimpers of pain and suffering; he could see the scarlet of blood gently undulating on the expansive axminster carpet; he remembered in vivid, horrific details the...the naked corpse of a girl..that young maid who had taken up their employment not so long ago at that time. Her skin a canvas splattered in red, black and blue; the blood that trickled from her mouth; the blues eyes that stared unseeingly; twane sapphires, completely empty.

Dead.

And like that the floodgates opened with a mighty force. They tore down ever barrier, every wall that confined them.

As he violently beat the man in front of him, he remembered...

Dear God, he _remembered!_

Every face, every eyes, broken, empty, mauled, butchered! The colours blurred, blue became black...brown...green...hazel...grey.

But the reality did not change, for they were maids. Young girls who belonged to families so poor that they could not even dream of going against Edmund Cullen, the late Duke of Alsworth.

His father.

The fiend, who had killed his own wife in front of his six years old son and made it out to be a simple accident. Like a dutiful husband struck with grief, he had told everyone that she had died due to a broken neck after taking a fall down the stairs at Ryndall, their other estate in Lancashire.

His terror had been such that neither the servants nor the physician who had examined his mother's corpse, had dared utter a word.

And none had listened to him, none had believed him except Aunt Esme and Uncle Carlisle, who were the only reason he was alive today and not asleep for eternity in the crypt of the Cullen family like his mother and ancestors. After all, he was only a six years old boy who had just lost his mother. The society had pitied him and he had cursed them...cursed them all for their blindness, their stupidity.

Cursed them all to Perdition!

Had it not been for the ton's penchant to seat those who had money and power on a pedestal, the monster who was his father, would have been punished for his bestiality, for the atrocities he had committed.

But no, he was the Duke of Alsworth, the scion of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. So, of course, like other degenerates of his kind, his father's sins had merely made juicy gossip to be discussed in the drawing rooms of the rich and famous, for a majority of women to titter behind their fans conspiratorially, but it had never been enough to get him punished for his crimes.

In a way, it was not Edmund Cullen, who was responsible for the death of his mother and all those girls, even though he had been the perpetrator- it was the society. The ton who was so insatiably greedy for power and money, so eager to worship those who had riches and connections, that the families of those poor girls had no recourse; no way to seek justice.

After all, the life of the Duke was more important than some housemaids who struggled to make both ends meet.

"...Edward, please let him go. He will die!" A lilting voice pierced the cacophony in his mind and the haze of rage dispersed slightly.

Small hands pulled at his fists, to try and separate him from Jacob who was now unconscious and with a jolt, Edward realized it was Isabella who was so near him. Her faint perfume of lavendar and freesias soothed the raw pain and ire clawing at him. He stilled and looked down to meet her soft brown eyes that were looking at him so pleadingly.

"Please, don't do this." She whispered, pulling at his arms to get him away from Jacob and towards her...his peace, his quiet, his salvation.

His betrothed.

Edward moved towards her, a strange fatigue settling over him. He was tired, so tired from the incessant battle that he waged with the shadows of his past, yet he was still as broken as that little six years old boy who had sat that fateful day at the foot of the stairs, weeping over his mother's corpse.

He was barely aware of the hands that released him, as the footmen who were trying to hold him back, let him go. He followed Isabella blindly as she led him to another room, and made him sit on a sofa.

"You have hurt yourself." She murmured softly, caressing his hand which he only now realized was bruised and smeared in blood, yet he registered no pain.

The wounds of the soul were more painful than the physical ones, after all.

He watched her silently as Isabella rang for some linens and salves. She then proceeded to clean his wounds, her small _un-gloved_ hands clutching his, her warmth suffusing his very being, thawing the ice that froze his heart and mind. He shivered slightly at her touch...the feel of the soft skin of her palms against his.

"Eight years," he whispered softly, "eight years I have laboured tirelessly to remove the taint on the line of Cullens, the sins of my father, with my own sweat and blood, yet in just a moment it is all lost."

Isabella looked at him then, her eyes boring into his and he had a desperate urge to assuage any doubts, any misconceptions she might have due to the words of Black.

He held her hands in his, pulling her closer, holding her like a talisman, like the brightness of a flame to keep away the bleakness of the horrors he had witnessed.

"I am a hard man to live with, Isabella, but for as long as I draw breath, you have my words that I shall neither seek another woman out of our wedlock, nor shall I lay a violent hand on you." He whispered earnestly.

"I know. I...I trust you, Edward." Isabella replied with firm conviction and then holding his eyes, she moved closer to him and pulled him in a comforting embrace.

In that moment, she cared not for propriety but for the man who sat in front of her.

The man who was so broken, so lost; who hid behind a mask of impassivity and coldness to ward off the world, to obscure his bleeding soul, his mangled heart.

Tears trickled down her cheeks and drenched his coat as she cried for him, for the atrocities he had suffered, the anguish he still held within him.

Even though she knew nothing of his past, yet the anguish in his eyes had pierced her heart.

In that moment, she saw the real Edward Cullen, not the formidable Duke of Alsworth and felt a fierce surge of protectiveness for him.

He needed to be saved from whatever demons that haunted him and Isabella vowed to do just that even if it was the last thing she would ever do.

"I did not mean to make you unhappy." Edward said after some time, reluctantly pulling away from her. He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it in her hand. That is when he saw it.

"You have not made...Ah!" Isabella gasped, despite his gentle hold on her wrist.

"How did this happen?" The Duke demanded, his eyes glinting with fury as he caressed her wrists that were beginning to bruise.

Jacob had held her by her wrists in an unmerciful hold before he was pulled away from her. The angry red, the shape of his hands was beginning to darken and was throbbing painfully.

"It is nothing just..." She tried to pull her wrists away from his hands, but he tightened his grip on her, but not so much as to cause her pain.

"Do not lie to me, Isabella! Did that lout do this? Hurt you so? I shall call him out and..." Edward snarled as he made to stand up, but was stopped by her.

"Edward, please. Just don't. Duelling is illegal and you will only get in trouble. Besides, Ja..Mr. Black is hurt as it is. I am sure..."

"Do you love him?" He growled, his eyes narrowed and Isabella thought she saw something akin to hurt flash in their emerald depths.

"What? No!" She squeaked, scandalised.

"But you seem rather concerned for his welfare." The Duke argued and Isabella was angered.

"Had I been in love with him, your Grace, I would never have accepted your suit. I would have easily married him, and that could have restored my reputation. After all, marriage is the only panacea for a compromised woman to regain her dignity and respectability. I do care for Jac...Mr. Black, but I love him like a brother. Our marriage was the fondest wish of both our families, but I have never harboured any tender for him. I am not like those fashionable ladies of the ton who wish to enter matrimony solely for money." She said, glaring at him and Edward's face softened.

"It was not my intention to offend you, Bella," He murmured, trying to pull her closer to him and giving up when she resisted, "but I find it difficult to trust anyone owing to my _experience."_ Edward stared steadily in her eyes and lost himself.

He pulled her hands to his lips and like the night before, kissed them gently, before he proceeded to apply some salve that she had used for his wounds, on her wrists.

"I am sorry." He whispered staring at her.

And that is how, for the first time in his five and twenty years, Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth, uttered those words...apologised to another for his mistake.

* * *

 ***Compromised-** The society in the regency era was very strict. If a woman who was 'out' in the society, i.e. she was either presented before the Queen or was of the age group 15-16 or beyond, if found alone in the company of a man who was not a family member, touching however innocently, she was considered to be compromised. It was a common tactic used in that time by some men and women to make advantageous matches. Even though the collision of Edward and Bella was an accident (at least on Bella's part), she was compromised. If a woman whose honour was so engaged did not get married to the man who compromised her during those time, her entire family was ostracised in the society. So, unlike men, the only option of such woman used to be marriage, either to the man who compromised her or to someone else. That's how even young girls were sometimes married to widowers who were older than their father!

 ***** The members of the peerage had many advantages during that time, and hence were seldom punished. They could easily buy any law enforcers who were there at that time and evade justice. So, the story of Edward's father was not altogether impossible at during regency era.

 **Reviews?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! I am so sorry for delay in posting this chapter. These past two weeks have been beyond hectic for me.**

 **Here's the next chapter. Hope you like it.**

 **Understanding**

Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth was most favourably engaged in perusing the marriage settlement and the Special Licence which he had procured when he was disturbed by his cousin, Lord Emmet Cullen, Viscount Aberly.

"There you are, Cousin!" Lord Emmet boomed, smiling jovially as he sauntered in the Library.

"I specifically left instructions with Burnes to not allow any visitors. So, how did you gain entrance, pray tell?" The Duke asked, leaning back in his chair with his fingers interlaced.

"Precisely! That was for outsiders, Ed boy, and I am your brother. Besides, poor Burnes has always been scared of me ever since I set that scullery maid, Melissa who held tender for him, on him when we were children. He dares not deny me anything." The Viscount said, pouring himself a glass of port.

"I sometimes doubt that you grew in any way, but your body past the age of five." Edward shook his head in amusement.

"Oh, but I have, Cousin. Any five years old shall be scarred forever if they had my prowess and imagination for enhancing pleasure." Lord Emmet waggled his eyebrows with a salacious grin on his face.

"You are deplorable."

"Nah, I just live to please my ladies."

"Do you not have any place else to be? Anyone else to annoy?" The Duke sneered.

"No, I left Mother with your betrothed and Lady Rosalie. Apparently they have plans to shop for trousseau and Father is in the House of Lords. So, I do not have any other engagement," The Viscount said, sipping the amber liquid, "Ah, I see you have been busy. You got the Special Licence. When do you plan to wed?"

"I am to dine with the Barringtons tonight, then, I shall discuss the wedding with Bella." Edward stated with a resigned sigh. He knew his cousin well enough to know that it was no social call. Something weighed heavily on Lord Emmet's mind and the Duke had a fair inkling as to what it was.

"I heard of your argument with Father." Lord Emmet began after a protracted moment of silence, staring at his cousin.

Apart from a slight tightening of the Duke's jaw, there was no visible reaction.

"Edward, you know he did not mean to-"

"Then pray enlighten me, Emmet, what else did he mean?" Edward growled, eyes cold and voice frigid.

Lord Emmet sighed. Despite his impeccable façade of impassivity and indifference, he knew that Edward was hurt by the words of his Father.

Yet, the Duke would never admit it; never admit to have felt such _trite human_ emotions.

Although the society frowned upon any show of weakness on the part of men, the horrid childhood of his cousin had sired his remarkable stoicism. From an early age, Edward had never been an expressive child, hiding behind a veneer to hide his anguish.

There was nothing he hated more than pity.

He blanched at any expression of emotions other than anger and hatred.

The two emotions the, bleak cloak of which Edward always donned to hide his anguished soul.

And it was this mask which had shielded him; these barriers of stone that the Duke had erected which protected him, else he would have surely gone insane from the torture.

The torture that his own father had inflicted on him.

Till his dying day, Lord Emmet shall never forget the ghastly scene that he had witnessed the night, Lady Elizabeth Cullen, Edward's mother died, or rather was murdered in cold blood.

It was indeed the divine providence that as soon as they had received the unfortunate tidings of the Duchess's demise in the late afternoon, they had departed from Alton Woods, the estate of the Earl of Eldenworth. Lady Esme had been adamant that Edward not be left alone with his father, the then Duke of Alsworth, who put demons to shame.

It was fortuitous indeed that the journey to Pembrook, the estate of Duke of Alsworth took only five hours. When they had arrived at the great house, everything had been eerily silent, draped in black of mourning.

Intent on finding Edward and comforting him in any way she could, Lady Esme had rushed to the nursery, with her son whilst Lord Carlisle decided to find his cousin, the Duke. When they had entered the nursery, they came upon a sight which had turned their blood to ice.

On the carpet lay the naked corpse of Edward's governess, Miss Sutton, in a small pool of her own blood whilst on the other side, Edmund held Edward.

Trying to strangle him to death.

With a cry of horror, Lady Esme had rushed in and with a strength which had astounded Lord Emmet given her petite frame, wrenched Edmund away from the prone form of a six years old Edward. Hearing the ruckus, Lord Carlisle had come running in, just in time to see Lady Esme aim such a powerful punch at the then Duke of Alsworth that he fell down, sporting torn lips.

He had not risen, clearly rendered unconscious.

Apparently Edmund had been drinking away since God knew how long and was pitifully inebriated.

However, their concern was not roused on his account in the least. Edmund Cullen could have died on the floor beside that poor woman he had violated and they would not have cared one whit. His death would have only served to lessen the burden of Mother Earth.

It had been the broken and bruised boy that lay unnaturally still, which had scared them.

Edward's small body was covered in bruises and blood, his eyes were swollen shut and red marks, the shape of his father's hands, were imprinted on his neck.

Had it not been for the slight rise and fall of his chest, they would have taken him to be dead.

That fateful night had then passed in a blur of fear, anxiety and anguish. The morning had not brought them any respite from their worries, but had only served to disgust and anger them as the Duke of Alsworth had emerged from his chambers.

Immediately, Lord Carlisle had dragged Edmund to the Library where the two men had remained shut for hours. To this day, they knew not what the two cousins had talked about, but when Lord Carlisle had stormed out in a murderous rage, he had firmly stated that as soon as Edward got well enough to travel, they shall leave Pembrook for Alton Woods.

Edmund could not be trusted with his son...would never be allowed to hurt that little boy again.

From that day forth, Lord Carlisle became, for all intents and purposes, Edward's father.

Hence, the reason his words mattered so much to the Duke despite his careful pretense to prove otherwise.

"Edward, are you really going to hold a few words spoken in anger against Father? He and Mother have raised both of us, so do they not have a right to chastise us when we are in the wrong? I know why you did what you did. God only knows why even after so many years you still perceive yourself to be underdeserving of any love or regard, but your insecurities do not justify all the sufferings you have set Miss Swan up for," Lord Emmet raised a hand to stop the Duke when he opened his mouth to argue.

"No, Edward, you have to listen to me" He growled sternly.

"You do intend to marry her to restore her respectability and honour, and given the influence of our families, a majority of the ton shall perhaps never dare to say anything to her face. Yet, she will always be an object of gossip in every drawing room, for she is a woman. A scandal attached to the name of a man is easily forgotten in a day or two when something new and more intriguing comes, but a woman is not accorded this mercy. Do you know when Royce Barrington was alive, I once heard someone comment that it was Lady Rosalie's fault that he was such a cad; that it was she who could not control her husband, could not satisfy his desire?Even several _gentlemen_ used to jest that for all her beauty, Lady Rosalie must be as frigid as a dead fish in the bed that Royce spent entirety of his time either in brothels or White's. As if any other than, perhaps God himself could influence a blackguard the likes of the late Duke of Wiltshire!" Lord Emmet shook his head.

"The society is cruel to the fairer sex, Edward,... to an extent that we could never imagine, being men. You are protected by both your sex and status as the Duke, but Miss Swan will be vilified as an upstart who ensnared you with her arts and allurement. Tell me, Edward, what did she do to deserve such callousness?"

"Emmet, I-"

"How would you have felt had Lady Jessica, or one of those vapid ladies of the ton compromised you in a similar fashion? Would you have liked for your freedom to choose your spouse to have been taken away from you so despicably? To be bound to a woman for your life who cared nothing for you?"

"I assure you that as my wife, Isabella shall have every happiness a woman can aspire for in marriage; anything she would ever want. Pin money, riches, jewellery, the likes of which she has never seen." Edward sneered, eyes blackening with rage.

"But will that be enough? Will those jewels and silk remove this taint on her character? Will that protect her heart if, God forbid, she ever came to know that you deliberately compromised her?" Lord Emmet asked quietly, "You may lavish her with expensive gifts, but will that restore the respect she has for you if she ever came to know the truth?"

Edward glowered at his cousin in a cold fury, his lips set in a ferocious snarl.

"You forget that she is the daughter of a mere country squire, Emmet, who though is well-off, can never dream of comparing with my prestige and wealth. Isabella will be grateful that I took notice of her and made her my wife!"

"Do not insult _your_ intelligence, Edward. It is unbecoming. You as well as I know that she is no money-grubbing, gold digger of the ton who usually flock around you. You are not the only one who has been observing her. Miss Swan is a simple girl who neither cares for the material possession you have to offer nor will she ever come to love you or hold you in esteem due to your overflowing coffers! If she ever came to know of your deception, she will be heart-broken." The Viscount said softly, noticing a brief flash of uncertainty in his cousin's eyes before they once again hardened to a calm coldness.

"And I only hope that when that fateful day arrives, Miss Swan can find it in herself to forgive you...that you are not bereft of her love." Lord Emmet whispered and walked out of the Library, leaving the Duke behind in a state of acute restlessness.

* * *

Mrs. Renee Swan was in highest of spirits!

She frittered through the house gaily, ordering her maids to pack the finest of her dresses.

 _Mother-in-law of the Duke of Alsworth!_ She nearly crowed in her thought, feeling giddy.

An hour earlier, her husband had summoned her to his Library to inform her of the contents of the Duke's letter. She had read the missive twice, disbelief being the dominant emotion.

 _How in the name of Heavens did a muttonhead mouse like Isabella catch one of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom?_

Unlike Rosalie, Isabella was neither a beauty nor had a lissom figure that could entice a man. More so, even though she could sing and play pianoforte tolerably well, she was always too absorbed in her books to use her meager talent to attract a husband. To further exacerbate matters, the girl always dressed in a way that Mrs Swan was sure was appropriate for nuns; she abhorred any gowns that showed her non-existent cleavage, had no eye or taste for expensive fabric and no interest at all in men.

There was indeed a time when Mrs Swan had contemplated sending her youngest to the nunnery, for how could a women catch a rich husband without flirtations or appealing to their senses in any way?

And as if the ungrateful wench that she had the misfortune of calling her daughter did not cause enough grief to her, Isabella read politics, histories and economics, instead of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels or some other literature that was more suitable for a young lady. The girl even had the audacity to engage in discussion, flaunting her knowledge even in front of men.

Men who could be potential suitors.

A fact which shamed Mrs. Swan tremendously.

She knew that a man wanted a docile and obedient wife who could sufficiently run the household and cater to his every need.

Not opinionated little chit like Isabella who did not know her place!

So, when Right Honourable Jacob Black had developed a tender for her youngest, Mrs Swan had done everything she could to keep his interest engaged. She had been eager to have her daughter off of her hands and settled with him, before the future Baron's interest waned.

The title, prestige and wealth of the Blacks had been an additional and a very welcome incentive.

But now the situation was different.

Changed, _very_ favourably.

Mrs. Swan could barely contain her euphoria that she would soon gain the title of being Mother-in-law of two Dukes (no matter one was long dead). Why, even in the haute ton none could boast of that honour!

And if she manipulated things to her own will, she may soon leave the back water, country society of Yorkshire for the exalted estate of the Duke of Alsworth.

With a little cunning she may as well gain control of the great estate too!

All those hours that Isabella spent in Library in literary pursuit, surely made her an ill-suited Mistress for any estate, let alone of one as grand as Pembrook. Since, she had never managed a household on her own, surely she will require some assistance initially.

And as her mother, Mrs Swan was sure to aid Isabella till she, hopefully got over the fancy of managing the Duke's household (And Mrs Swan shall see it happening or how else will she gain Pembrook?) and retreated back to the Library and her books.

Furthermore, although Isabella was capable of holding her own, she was not as stubborn as Rosalie who had barred her Mother from entering any of the homes of her husband, the Duke of Wiltshire After her marriage.

The thought of immense wealth and invaluable jewels kept her giddy the entire afternoon.

* * *

 ***Special Licence-** It was granted by the Archbishop of Canterbury for a consideration of five pounds. Only the peers could afford it due to, first, it's cost and second, Archbishop was not available for everyone. The Licence gave permission to literally marry anywhere just with two witnesses to see the union. Marrying with a Special Licence was sort of a fad of the rich and famous. They never got married any other way. Ordinary people, however had to wait at least three Sundays to get married. On each Sunday, banns were read in the parish of bride and groom, thereafter they could get married.

 ***White's-** It was a gentleman's club during regency era which was frequented by peers.

 ***** For all the strictness, the gowns which showed cleavage were considered fashionable in regency era.

 **Bobbysgirl1976 and CoppertopJ, I hope this chapter satisfied your curiosity regarding Renee.**

* * *

 **Reviews?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the lovely messages and well wishes you left me. It's good to be back here and post again. Although quite some time has passed, but...Happy Thanksgiving!**

 **Here is the new chapter. Hope you like it.**

 **CHAPTER 6 : CONFRONTATION**

"How was your day," Edward bent slightly towards the small frame of his betrothed, " _My Lady?"_ He murmured softly.

Isabella blushed furiously, her cheeks adorned in the same hue of crimson as the lovely roses she held in her hands. She stared in the emerald green eyes of her future husband and felt a shiver of pleasure run down her spine.

He stared at her so intently, so _hungrily_ as if he had not seen her in years, as if she would disappear if he so much as blinked.

"I am w..well, Edward." She stammered, her blush deepening when she felt his gloved hand brush gently against her own.

"These flowers are so lovely. Thank you." Isabella said, smiling shyly.

"They are nothing compared to you, Bella." The Duke said in a husky voice, enjoying the crimson suffusing her soft, ivory cheeks.

They looked so delectable; like scarlet petals of a rose floating on milk. He had to quell his desire to touch her cheeks to find for himself if they were as soft as they looked. It won't do to further jeopardise his betrothed's reputation in any way. Besides, the words of his cousin still unsettled him...almost as if there was an invisible weight on his chest.

But, how could he have lost her? He had nary a chance had he tried to court her properly, it would have been too late for that despicable Jacob Black had the advantage of being aquainted with her since a long time. Had he waited, he would have surely lost her to him in matrimony and Edward could not have allowed that. After losing so much since childhood, he was unwilling to lose this ray of sunshine, this beacon of hope that was his Isabella.

His beauty; his soon-to-be bride.

A gruffly cleared throat broke his abstraction and he watched as his betrothed nearly jumped to put a respectable distance between them, her cheeks flaming more furiously if it were even possible. Almost as if tied with an invisible rope, he unconsciously took a step towards her to lessen the distance between them and glared at the person who had dared to interrupt them.

"Fancy seeing you here, Cousin!" Lord Emmet, the Viscount Aberly said enthusiastically, his eyes dancing with wicked amusement.

"What are you doing here, Emmet?" The Duke frowned, glowering at him suspiciously.

"Why our family was invited by Her Grace and your lovely Isabella," The Viscount turned towards the young lady who had captured his cousin's heart and whispered conspiratorially, "Now, Bella, I am bound by the family honour to disabuse you of the notion that anyone of the Cullen family is a rude buffoon like Edward here. Heaven knows where he learned his manners."

Isabella smiled timidly, unsure as to how to respond to such ribbing of the formidable Duke, who was at the moment scowling ferociously at the familiar way his cousin had addressed his betrothed. After all, Emmet had shown considerable interest in the lady in question just a few days ago.

"Come now, Cousin. We are soon going to be family." Lord Emmet remarked, enjoying irking the Duke and astutely understanding the reason for it.

Of course, the Viscount prayed for the happiness of Edward, who for all intents and purposes was his brother. And seeing the way his cousin had changed these past few days, owing to one Miss Isabella Swan, the young lady had his eternal gratitude. No matter the circumstances surrounding their betrothal and impending wedding, Lord Emmet considered Isabella no different than his own sister, Lady Alice, but the Duke didn't know that.

And apparently, the Viscount was not above having some entertainment at the expense of his cousin.

What fun it was to make the cold and ruthless Duke of Alsworth squirm!

So, Lord Emmet went up to Isabella and bowed courteously.

"My Lady, please allow me the incomparable honour of escorting you to the dining room." He requested earnestly, offering his arm.

With a soft 'Thank you' and a shy glance at her betrothed, Isabella placed her hand in the crook of the Viscount's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her.

Behind them, hiding his ire beneath a veneer of cold impassivity, came the Duke of Alsworth. He could not believe the audacity of his cousin to unsurp his right to escort his betrothed and then to flirt with her so blatantly and in front of him. It was too much!

However, his angry musings were interrupted by the cheerful voice of his other cousin, Lady Alice Cullen.

"There you are, Edward. We were waiting for you." She beamed at him.

"When did you arrive, Alice?" Edward enquired, surprised to see her.

"This afternoon. After receiving Mother's missive regarding your betrothal, I could not stop myself from coming here and meeting for myself this paragon of virtues that she so praised" Alice then turned and smiled brilliantly at Isabella, "And I must say, I was not in the least disappointed. She deserves all those praises and so much more. I am so happy for you, cousin. You could not have found a more suitable bride even if you had tried," She lowered her voice so only Edward heard.

"Here she all but landed in your lap." Alice whispered, giving him a disapproving look and it was clear that she knew of the Duke's machinations for getting Isabella.

Lady Alice had been away, paying visit to one of her dear friends Miss Charlotte Dunsey, when she had received the missive from her mother, Lady Esme. Being that she was only fifteen summers old and was yet to be presented before the Queen, she had chosen to stay away this London Season and spend time with her childhood friend Charlotte, who had recently lost her father, and thus required comfort. When her mother had written to her, informing her of one Miss Isabella Swan who had done the impossible task of touching Edward's heart, Alice had been skeptical. Lady Esme had kept her informed of the changes in her favourite cousin, all but singing ballads to praise the young lady, which had undoubtedly evoked her keen interest.

However, it was only when Lady Esme's recent missive detailing the events of the ball, the impromptu betrothal and suspicions pertaining to the schemes of the Duke for deliberately compromising Miss Isabella had arrived, that she took her leave from her friend and started for London. Living in the same house with Edward, who was her brother in every way, she was well aware of his obstinacy. Owing to the scars of his horrendous childhood, he had always been tenacious, ensuring he got all that he desired at any cost. So, though it was hard for Lady Alice to believe that he actually held tender for a woman given his perpetually cold disposition and firm belief that he was incapable of feeling affection as much as he was undeserving of it, she could actually believe that if the said Lady had actually caught his fancy, he would have no compunction whatsoever in coveting her in any way he could.

Given the fickle nature, viciousness and greed of all the young ladies of the ton who flocked around Edward, Lady Alice had been worried if her cousin was done in by the arts and allurement of some mercenary despite her mother's assurance to the contrary. Hence, the reason she had been quite eager to make aquaintance with Miss Swan.

And she could not have been more relieved to find her suspicions unfounded. Despite not having known Miss Swan for more than an hour, she could see the young lady who was only three summers older than her, to be deserving of the paean her entire family had been singing for her. Apparently, the Duke was not the only one who had thoroughly researched Miss Swan's background and reputation and found her to be a decent young lady.

With her worries thus rested, Lady Alice now concentrated on her disapprobation and anger with her cousin for compromising a young lady. Although she was not out in the society, Alice was well aware that the burden of shame was always borne by the woman involved in such incidents. Thus, her heart went out for Isabella.

With an icy glare at her, Edward turned away from her and sought a seat beside his betrothed.

Aware and very much ignoring the brewing storm behind the calm façade of his younger cousin, the Duke of Alsworth concentrated on his soon-to-be wife.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" He queried.

"I think I shall not even think of purchasing anything ever again. I am scarred for life." Isabella huffed, her nose flaring.

"That bad? I was under the impression that there is nothing more enjoyable for the women than to spend the day indulging their whims of fashion, lace and fripperies?" Edward chuckled, observing the annoyance on his betrothed's face.

"Unlike the fashionable ladies of the ton, I cannot bring myself to appreciate such frivolity beyond a certain limit. I have lost count of the number of shops we visited today. We nearly raided the entirety of London!"

Despite the quietness of her voice, her exclamation was heard by Lady Esme who had been paying attention to the affianced couple.

"Yet despite her great vexation, she persevered. Besides, now that she is going to be a part of our family, I have plenty of time to corrupt her." The Countess said, smirking smugly.

"We sure shall, Mother...And it is very good that Bella is so patient and agreeable." Lady Alice interjected innocently.

"That's right, Alice. She must have the patience of the Saint to deal with our headstrong Cousin." Lord Emmet boomed.

"That is enough. You must not embarrass Edward." Lord Carlisle rebuked his children.

Edward ignored the ribbing and asked the question he was most curious about.

"Did you commission your wedding gown?" He asked to which Isabella shyly nodded.

"When are you to receive it?"

"The evening, day after tomorrow. Lady Esme demanded that they have it ready at the earliest at your behest." She whispered, blushing a soft red.

"Yes, I did. The earlier the wedding is, the sooner we can stop the gossip." Edward said grimly, to which Isabella paled.

The betrothed couple quietly discussed their wedding date whilst partaking in dinner at the end of which the Duke made an announcement.

Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth was to wed Miss Isabella Swan on Friday that was two days forth.

* * *

It was only after the betrothed couple was heartily congratulated, that they retired to the living room where Lady Alice promptly led Isabella to the pianoforte. Before he could accompany them, the Viscount escorted the ladies and offered to turn the pages for them, thus once again thwarting the Duke's endeavours.

Frustrated with his cousin, Edward sat on a chaise, much away from Lord Carlisle. It was only out of respect for his host that the Duke had treated his Uncle with a cold politeness and now he was unwilling to uphold the charade any further.

"Did you enjoy your evening, Your Grace?" Lady Rosalie asked as she sat opposite him.

"Very much so. Thank you so much for your hospitality, My Lady." Edward murmured, bowing his head.

After exchanging pleasantries, they lapsed in silence listening to the performance of the young ladies, until the Duchess spoke again.

"I have raised Isabella as my own child for our mother was always...occupied," She said suddenly, staring coldly at the Duke, "So, I hope you can understand that for me her happiness holds utmost importance and I am sure it will be so for you too."

Edward nodded, torn between amusement and appreciation. Owing to his reputation, he had always had people bowing and scraping before him, yet here was a woman trying to intimidate him.

"Good. It shall indeed be best for you to always keep my sister happy...to always endeavour to not allow her to shed a single tear." Lady Rosalie drawled, her eyes steely.

"Oh, and one more thing. Keep my sister away from Mrs. Renee Swan. Heaven knows she had had enough of that woman." With that final warning, the Duchess left him to his thoughts.

Lady Rosalie Elizabeth Barrington neé Swan had indeed done the unthinkable task of trying to threaten Edward Cullen, the formidable Duke of Alsworth.

* * *

The next morning dawned for the residents of the Barringtons townhouse with a heated argument, which was not surprising considering the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Swan.

"...can you imagine what the ton would say? And to leave your own Mother in such filth-" Mrs Reneé Swan was ranting angrily.

"For the last time, woman, I told you. You are no longer welcome in any house of mine till I am alive. I will not allow you to pollute my household with your venomous presence." Lady Rosalie snarled.

"You, ungrateful chit! After all I did for you, this is how I am being repaid for all my pains!"

Isabella buried her head in her hands, feeling a headache building. Unbeknownst to her, the previous night, Mr. and Mrs. Swan had tried to gain entrance in the Barrington house and had been promptly turned away. Ever since she had gotten married to Royce, Rosalie had refused to allow their mother from entering any of the properties of the Barringtons. However, now since Royce was dead and Isabella was getting married and thus (according to Mrs. Swan) required loving guidance of her Mother, Reneé had not thought much of it.

Apparently, Mrs. Swan was nothing if not tenacious.

On being denied entrance, Mr. and Mrs. Swan had endeavoured to secure a room in any inn around London, which proved to be quite a daunting task owing to the on-going season. Finally, after hours of search, they had found room in an Inn on the outskirts of London, which apparently was neither in accordance with the taste of Mrs. Swan nor befitting for her station.

Needless to say, it quite irked the elderly matron.

"You, shameless bint! Of course, Isabella will require her mother's guidance. That girl has always been too involved in scholarly pursuits to learn about the management of a household. If I left her, the Duke is sure to abandon her and seek a more suitable wife! She will need me to run her house and..." Mrs. Swan continued in her anger, unmindful of the effects her words were having on her youngest daughter.

Isabella had always passively resisted her mother's more atrocious and unreasonable demands like flaunting a daring neckline that showed a distasteful amount of cleavage. As she grew up, she always avoided Mrs. Swan, finding solace in her books and library where her mother seldom set foot. Mrs. Swan had never believed in corporeal punishment. Bruises, lacerations on the bodies of Rosalie and Isabella will not only be seen and gossiped amongst the servants, but also any resulting scars may mar their beauty (Not that Isabella had much, as thought by Mrs. Swan!)

So, any wrongdoing was always punished with denying them food and confiscation of favourite objects, dresses etc. Thus, from an early age, Isabella had learned to avoid her mother and took to disappearing in the Library whilst always holding onto the hope that perhaps her mother was not so bad.

That she only sought to see her daughters married as she had failed to bear a son...an heir.

That perhaps it was her worry for her two daughters that made her so forceful or even demand such things as flirtation or allowing advances to the sons of some wealthy men of the peerage, despite the severe repercussions that they may face if such attempts failed or went awry.

Rosalie had always told Isabella that she was too innocent, too intent on believing good in people, even in those who were undeserving.

Rosalie had always insisted that their mother was nothing but a money and power hungry harridan who was even capable of selling her own daughters for elevating her social status.

Yet, Isabella had always rebuked her sister for harbouring such uncharitable thoughts for their mother.

She had always held onto the childish hope of receiving love and warmth from her mother.

Oh how very wrong she was proved to be!

The condition of Rosalie after her marriage to Royce Barrington had horrified Isabella and finally opened her eyes to the lies and dubious character of Mrs. Reneé Swan. Over time, she came to see her mother's manipulation and became the staunchest supporter of Rosalie. However, it was today that she completely lost her hope that their mother had ever felt even the slightest of love for her daughters.

It was now as she heard Mrs. Reneé Swan badmouth both her and her elder sister whilst stressing as to how important it was that she be allowed to manage the Duke of Alsworth's household after the marriage, that she truly saw the true face of her mother.

The face that she hid behind a mask of civility, calculated care and love...the mask of being a perfect Mother and a loving wife when she was neither.

In that moment Isabella truly saw her mother for the manipulating, greedy and vicious social climbing woman she was who had no moral compass.

"ENOUGH!" A steely voice broke the argument as both Reneé and Rosalie turned towards a stone-faced Isabella.

"You do not love us in the slightest, do you? You never did! It was just the money...money and power. I was the one who was daft, who always believed that there must be something, anything that you must feel for us. How can a Mother be so cruel, so unfeeling, so deviously selfish?" Isabella said in a quiet voice, yet it reverberated in the cavernous room.

Mrs. Swan spluttered incoherently, her eyes widening in shock at the vitriol spewing from her usually quiet daughter whom she had taken to be as lacking in backbone as her father.

"You, Mrs. Reneé Swan, are no Mother of mine, nor will you ever be. Your insatiable greed and selfish disregard for other's feelings repulse me and if I never see you it will be too soon," She took a deep breath and turned towards her father who like always stood in a corner as a mute spectator and could not bring herself to even feel pity.

If only her father had a stronger character...If only he could have ensured his children's happiness...If only he had stood up for himself and them...If only...

"I always loved you, Father, and I know you did too, yet it was never enough. Out of your love for Moth...nay, Mrs. Swan, you let her play with us like a Master Puppeteer and destroy Rosalie's life. They say love is blind, but after eight and ten years of living with you, I can say that it is deaf, dumb and mute too." Isabella whispered and then sat down and closed her eyes, too numb to feel anything.

The cacophony of voices around her blurred together and faded leaving her trapped in her own mind...aware only of her anguish.

It was only when she felt her sister engulf her lovingly in her arms like she had always done, that she cried.

Isabella wept for the loss of a Mother that she never had...The loss of her innocence and childhood.

* * *

 *** Missive-** Letter

 **I struggled to write this chapter, especially Isabella's feelings on her Mother. I hope it is satisfactorily written. More about her 'passive resistance' and the relationship with Reneé will be clear in the next chapter. Please let me know your thoughts.**

 **Reviews?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and for adding this story as your favourite. It's truly humbling. This story has also been added to a community for which I am extremely grateful.**

 **Now on with the next chapter. Please let me know what you think.**

 **CHAPTER 7: NIGHTMARE**

 _"Please, let me go!...Have mercy." A feminine voice begged interspersed with heart-wrenching sobs._

 _"Oh, I shall let you go, wench. Just satisfy me...thoroughly" Another voice snarled darkly, "Such beauty, such perfection...pray, tell me, were you saving it for your husband?"_

 _His breath hitched and heart hammered in his chest. That voice...that dreadful, frightening voice._

 _He recognised it; recognised the person to whom it belonged._

 _As the sobs and pitiful pleading grew in volume, so did the trembling in his limbs in tandem._

 _It was utterly impossible, yet here it was._

 _He ran towards the chamber...the cavernous room from whence the voices came, passing the deserted hallway, the carpeted staircase, the precious heirlooms, enhancing opulence...cloaked in inactivity and stillness._

 _Suddenly, someone appeared before him like an apparition and he stopped and stared._

 _Stared at her- the woman who was supposed to love him, cherish him and protect him; the woman who had always turned a blind eye and allowed him to be abused both mentally and physically by that monster; the woman who resembled nothing but a lifeless, porcelain doll as frigid in her demeanour as the Arctic ocean._

 _His mother._

 _He met her stare, gazed in the emerald of her eyes so like his own, yet so different._

 _For her eyes were dead...as dead as the jewel they resembled._

 _Lady Elizabeth Cullen gazed at him impassively, her mien devoid of any emotion. She was neither moved by the pleas coming from the chamber at the entrance of which she stood, nor was she bothered by the devilry of her husband._

 _Yet, he was affected...affected by that voice, her begging._

 _Pushing his mother aside, he entered the chamber, only to freeze in horror. His eyes widened in fear and an animalistic scream escaped his throat._

 _There naked on the bed beneath his beast of a Father, bleeding profusely from her nose and mouth, bearing lacerations and bruises on her alabaster skin, her eyes glassy with unshed tears and agony, lay_ her.

 _His betrothed. His bride._

 _Miss Isabella Swan._

"NO!" With a bloodcurdling yell of terror, Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth woke from his slumber. Still not quite rid of the cobweb of sleep and the cruel clutches of his nightmare, he groped around blindly for his beloved.

He tried to reach for her- his betrothed-to protect her, to save her from the monster who had violated her, yet his flailing limbs encountered air.

Panting as if he had run for miles, he slowly stood on shaky legs after a while and stumbled out of his chambers, eager to escape its suffocating confines. The house was entirely shrouded in darkness, given the lateness of the hour, which only served as a reminder of his ghastly nightmare. Still nearly incoherent with panic, he walked past a slumbering footman towards his study.

Breathing deeply in the soothing smell of leather, parchment and pine, Edward poured himself a glass of the strongest liquor and collapsed in his chair. Now that sleep no longer clouded his brain, he took a shaky sigh of relief.

Relief that his little beauty had not fallen into the clutches of his demon of a Father...relief that Edmund Cullen was long dead.

With trembling hands, he wiped his sweaty forehead, glaring at the dying embers of the fire that smouldered in the hearth. He did not know what to feel. The sight of Bella, his Isabella lying in such a vulnerable position with his father, had him clenching his teeth in ire and agony.

Even though it was merely a nightmare-a horrendous dredging of his painful past- yet he shivered in revulsion and anger. To see Bella so helpless, so wounded, gutted his heart. He did not know what it was that he felt- the searing _pain_ at the mere thought of her so brutalised, so abused, her spirit callously broken.

The image of her agonised eyes was imprinted indelibly on his mind, making him yearn to kill his father...to kill the man who had dared to mar his betrothed's innocence even if in a mere dream.

It was so confusing, so chaotic, for like the other times he had had a nightmare in the past, he was not afraid of his father, he did not remember the many ways Edmund Cullen had abused him.

No, this time he had been afraid for her- his Isabella.

Sighing wearily and too confounded by his emotions, for the first time in many years, the Duke of Alsworth who loathed nothing more than losing control of his mental faculties, drank himself to sleep.

* * *

"Finally, you are awake!" A deep voice boomed, making Edward groan.

He buried himself deeper in the silken sheets, clamping his eyes shut. His head throbbed painfully and his throat was parched as if it had remained devoid of water for years.

His cousin-for who would dare to irk him so thoroughly- tutted loudly.

"Poor Bella! To think she has to bear with your troll-like tendencies from tomorrow for the rest of her life, and not to mention the way you are smelling. Heavens, does the poor girl know what she is getting into?"

"Do you not have someone else to trouble this morning, perchance? Or did Aunt Esme threw you out of the house again to protect her sanity?" Edward gritted out, sitting up and glaring at the Viscount who merely grinned at him cheerily.

"Morning, you say? Why, Cousin, it is nearly evening. You slept the whole day!"

"What?" The Duke exclaimed, aghast which sobered the Viscount immediately.

"Yes, you did. Mr. Bolton found you passed out on the floor of your study, completely inebriated," Emmet eyed his cousin in concern, "What happened?"

"Nothing." Came the curt reply promptly.

"Hogwash! I am very well aware as to how much you despise losing control on your own body, yet you drank yourself into a stupor the previous night. So, don't you dare tell me it's _nothing._ I am not daft, Edward," The Viscount snapped harshly, and then sighed, his face softening.

"Did you...did you have a nightmare?"

"I do not wish to talk about it." Edward snapped, his eyes glittering with obstinacy. The two cousins glared at each other, neither willing to back down till Emmet looked away and rubbed his head wearily.

"Do you know how worried we were? To see you like that-dead to the world- it was just like...as if all those years ago. Why do you even..." The Viscount trailed off at a loss of words and shook his head, "Edward, I have never thought of you as anything less than my brother and God knows if there is anyone who deserves happiness, it's you. But if you continue this way, if you let your past still shroud you so, it will prove detrimental not only for you, but also for Bella. Tomorrow you are getting married to a lovely lady and I have no doubt whatsoever that yours can be one of those very few marriages of the ton which are based on the foundation of genuine love and understanding. Yet, it can only be so if you work for it...If you allow yourself to be completely happy, and that can only happen if you give yourself to her...No, do not interrupt me." The Viscount said sternly, as Edward opened his mouth.

"No matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, you as well as I know that you will hold a part of yourself back from Bella in the fear of getting hurt. I am not saying that you will hurt her, for even I know that you are your father's son in only blood. You are as different from him as night is from day, but that does not negate that you always tend to close yourself off, especially when it comes to love. Even after so many years since he died, only God knows why you still think that you cannot be loved just for yourself, as if _you_ are the one who is irredeemable. And this thinking of yours shall surely drive a wedge between you and Miss Bella if you don't let it go, Edward. Only you can free yourself from the shackles of your past. So, do it, if not for yourself then for the girl who shall become your wife come morn. Life is too short to bear such burden, Edward, to not give love a chance. The past is not yours to change, but your present and future is. Please let past be in the past." Emmet said softly, and then patted his cousin's head affectionately, gaining himself a disgruntled glare.

The two men sat in silence as twilight darkened the chamber, lost in their own thoughts, until the Viscount had had enough.

"And for Heaven's sake, Edward, now get out of your bed and wash yourself. Your unkempt appearance is hurting my delicate sensibilities! If only those ladies of the ton can see you now, they shall forever run in the opposite direction from you. Why, your bloodshot eyes shall surely give me nightmares!" He put his hands on his chest and sighed mockingly, his eyes wide.

"Leave me be, Emmet!" Edward growled, irritated with his cousin's antics.

Only the Almighty could understand the dynamic persona of his Cousin, Lord Emmet Cullen, the Viscount Aberly.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Lady Rosalie, the Duchess of Wiltshire snarled. She shut the door of the Library with a loud bang and turned to her Mother, her eyes narrowed in hatred. They did not need to provide any more fodder for gossip with the drama of their dysfunctional family.

"I have come to remove Isabella from you corrupting influence," Mrs. Reneé Swan glared at her eldest daughter with intense dislike, "God knows what you have done to her to make her act in such a shameful manner with her own parents, but I shall now allow you to continue with it any longer. Why, her marriage to the Duke shall not even last a day if she does not cease to-"

"Do not even dare to express such vile sentiments," Lady Rosalie growled as she advanced towards her Mother, "To denounce you was the most sensible thing Isabella has done ever. She has finally seen you for the uncouth, selfish and greedy woman that you are! And you shall do no such thing as take her with you. Haven't you caused enough heart-ache, enough damage, that you have now come to cause her even more grief and that too on the evening before her wedding? Have you no decency, no shame at all? Do you not have even the slightest of humanity left in you that you are so selfishly uncaring of her feelings?"

"How dare you? You conniving, vicious-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. Those are the words that astutely describe you, not me, Mrs. Swan! Who are you trying to fool, Reneé? Have you forgotten I am the same girl, _your own daughter,_ whom you condemned to a life with a beast like Royce Barrington? Or, do you think that I have forgotten all the beatings, humiliations and miscarriages at his hands. His might be the hands which broke me so thoroughly, but it was you who was responsible for everything that happened with me. It was you who forced me to wed him, despite being aware of his depravity and debauchery. Bella's betrothed is nothing like _him,_ and I shall not allow you to strain their relationship with your foul presence, not when my sister has an opportunity to have a husband who might genuinely love her."

"You-" Mrs. Swan spluttered incoherently, nearly apoplectic with rage.

"Listen to me, and listen me good," The Duchess snarled, eyes glittering maliciously, "You may think otherwise, but Isabella is a Human being and _not_ cattle for you to barter to further your social status or get your filthy hands on money. You did indeed succeed in utterly destroying my life through your manipulations, but perdition be to me if I allow you to do the same with Bella. She is my sister by birth, but I have raised that girl as my own child since _you_ could not be bothered to waste your precious time on something as _inconsequential_ as your own babe. So, let me acquaint you with a vital truth about Mothers, Reneé, since you do not know a whit about being one. A Mother can do _anything,_ go to any length to secure the happiness and well-being of her child and so shall I. If you cause Isabella any grief today, tomorrow, or in future, then I swear on my honour that I shall make you regret the day you were born."

Mrs. Swan stood agape in front of her eldest daughter, nay, the stranger- the fierce stranger, utterly flabbergasted, for indeed Lady Rosalie was utterly unrecognizable in her ire. Although she was not a woman of great wit or intellect, Reneé could very well recognise that any attempts to regain control in the situation she was in, shall undoubtedly result in dire repercussions for her.

"Leave and do not come near me or Isabella ever again. And do not even think of causing any difficulties in her marriage, or I shall ensure that you are unable to set foot in a single household which holds even the slightest of prominence in the society," Lady Rosalie, bent slightly and whispered malevolently, "A word to the wise, _Mother,_ don't test my power and don't tempt my fury!"

Mrs. Swan stumbled back in alarm and with a pitiful nod attempted to walk out of the Library with her dignity intact.

"Oh, and ensure that Bella does not catch a sight of you. Heavens help you if you cause her any more pain." The Duchess warned and watched with cold satisfaction as the older woman all but scurried out of the room.

* * *

 **I have fast-forwarded a bit to the day before the marriage as I had to lay the foundation for the future events. I hope it was to your liking.**

 **Merry Christmas and a very Happy New year, guys! May this festive season bring all you wonderful people loads of peace, joy and happiness.**

 **Reviews?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! I am extremely grateful for all the words of encouragement you left me for the previous chapter.**

 **Now, here is the next chapter. Please let me know what you think.**

 **Chapter 8: The Wedding**

Miss Isabella Swan was blushing.

The crimson adorning her pale cheeks rivalled the colour of ripest tomatoes. And the cause of her great embarrassment was her elder sister Lady Rosalie.

Since the dawn of time, the older women in the family, especially Mothers, have taken up the mantle of educating young ladies in the most prominent facet of married life- the intimacy and relation between a man and his wife.

So, in the absence of their Mother, it fell upon the Duchess of Wiltshire to educate her younger sister in the matter of copulation.

"Even though I am the worst person to acquaint you about the marital relations, for what do I know about love between a man and his wife?," Lady Rosalie questioned rhetorically with a bitter laugh, "But I shall not allow you to enter matrimony completely ignorant. Bella, a majority of women in our society shall tell you that the marriage bed is only for the pleasure of the man, that the woman has to merely bear with it to fulfil her duty as an obedient wife and therefore, should neither expect nor seek her own satisfaction. Even before my own marriage to Royce, our dear Mother instructed me that I should stay still and let my husband have his pleasure with my body. I just had to ensure that he...spilled his seed in my womb and that after begetting a child, I should encourage him to seek company of other women. She told me to turn him away from my bed after providing him with an heir and most preferably, a spare. Mother asked me to send my own husband in the arms of a whore, not that Royce ever needed any encouragement to do just that!" The Duchess spat, her blue eyes hardened with loathing.

And then as if she had forgotten of her sister's presence beside her, lost in the cobwebs of the memories of her own traumatic past as she was, she suddenly shook her head and smiled tremulously at a whey-faced Isabella.

"But, despite all the unpleasantness that happened with me, I can vouch for the untruth of these ghastly utterances, or at least that they do not hold true for all marriages."

"How?" Isabella asked breathlessly, her mien pale with fright.

"Do you remember that summer when we caught Mother's handmaiden, Ginerva, with that stable boy in the ruins of our old stables which was farthest from our house?" Lady Rosalie asked.

"When we were collecting wildflowers?...Yes."

"They were having sex."

"Wh..what? But out in the open! And...And they were not even married! Then how?" Isabella spluttered, blushing furiously.

"Bella, when a man releases his seed, there are high chances that they may find purchase in the woman's womb, resulting in her becoming with a child. Although it is not necessary to be married to engage in love making, it is most preferable, for the lives of illegitimate children are truly cursed- a most horrendous experience. They neither have any right in the property of their father nor are they ever looked kindly upon in any facet of life-be it prospect for work or marriage. They along with their Mothers live a life of ignominy. They are condemned by the society whilst no such repercussions whatsoever, are faced by the man involved, be it a simple farm labourer or a member of the peerage." The Duchess paused and looked at her sister shrewdly.

"Besides, do you not remember that soon after that incident, they both were wedded in our local parish?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you think going by her reactions that Ginerva was in any kind of pain?" Lady Rosalie asked kindly, trying to alleviate the younger girl's nervousness.

"No, but..."

"You are right; she was not in any kind of pain. To be more forthright, Ginerva was in actuality, an eager and active participant; she took pleasure as much as she gave. Although, it does hurt the first time when _he_ shall break through your maidenhead, it shall not be so painful subsequently. So, in essence it all depends on your partner. Knowing the Duke and seeing the way he looks at you, I doubt that he shall ever do anything to hurt you, though you must tell him if you do not want to do something or if something causes you pain. Let him guide you and make your own decisions no matter what others say. Bella, given the circumstances of your betrothal to His Grace, there will be several tongues rolling, but you have to survive it with your head held high. Our society is too callous, too harsh, especially for the women, but you have to realise that till the time you do not bow down, they shall not succeed in breaking you. Just remember, that the Almighty has given everyone mouth and tongue and they shall never cease to use it. So, let them spout their nonsense till another scandal comes along and everything shall be forgotten. That is how I survived all these years in our _polite, civilised_ society, given everything my dear husband did to drag the name of Barringtons through the mud."

Isabella nodded her expression bleak.

"Now tell me truthfully, Bella, what did _you_ think Ginerva and that stable boy were doing all those years ago that you were so shocked by my revelation?" Lady Rosalie asked, a wicked glint in her cerulean eyes.

"It is nothing!" Isabella blustered.

"Surely, it is something. Do not lie to me, Isabella! What did you think that they were doing?"

Isabella mumbled something softly, blood rushing to her face, yet her elder sister caught it.

"Mud-wrestling?...Dear Lord, do not tell me you actually thought that. For Heaven's sake, did you not notice their state of undress? Whoever wrestles in mud wearing a mere slip and underpants? I do not know whether to be gratified or embarrassed of your naivety!" The Duchess stared appalled at her younger sister who was blushing a fiery red.

"I was ten summers old, Rosalie! What was I supposed to think?" Isabella protested.

Her response caused Lady Rosalie to lose her composure and giggle most unbecomingly for a woman of her station. Soon, she was joined by her younger sister, her mirth contagious.

Thus, in this fashion, Miss Isabella Swan celebrated her last night as a maiden, laughing away with her elder sister.

Not too far away from the imposing townhouse of the Barringtons, a similar fate as his beloved befell the formidable Duke of Alsworth.

The matter of his chastity and virginity which had never ceased to tickle Lord Emmet, the Viscount Aberly, was particularly hilarious for him this night, which marked the last of the bachelorhood of his cousin.

"I should hope so that you at least know where goes what, Edward, otherwise it shall be the blackest mark on the virility and potency of the Cullen men." Lord Emmet boomed, drinking deeply from the crystal snifter.

"Emmet!," Edward hissed, glaring angrily at his cousin, "Can you be even more crass? Have you forgotten that you are not in some tavern with those buffoons you call friends!"

"I was merely trying to be helpful," The Viscount protested, his voice dripping with amusement, "It shall never do for you to finally get acquainted with the pleasure of flesh only to have it snatched from you. Why, your bride may refuse to allow you to bed her if you do not satisfy her."

"I shall manage on my own. Thank you!"

"Ah, I know. I found that _enlightening_ tome you were reading earlier," Lord Emmet said knowingly, "But you will have to wait to try all those _enticingly pleasurable poses._ Your wife won't be ready for that for quite some time."

It was only the years of practice in hiding his feelings behind a mask which allowed Edward to not show his embarrassment at his cousin's words. Not that he shall ever admit of it, even on the pain of death.

"...and what I fail to understand is why did you choose to waste away your time on musty books when you have me right here. I can provide you with any advice-"

"I am retiring to my chambers. Have a pleasant night, Cousin." With a growl, the Duke interrupted his cousin.

With another belligerent glower, he stormed upstairs, leaving a thoroughly amused and grinning Lord Emmet in his wake.

* * *

The morning of the wedding dawned brightly. The Sun painted the cobbled streets of London in a cheery yellow from its halo in the azure horizon whilst the birds chirped merrily. With such a good omen from Mother Nature herself, the bridal party readied in the Barrington townhouse with alacrity and general good humour.

Attired in a stunning gown of purest white, Isabella looked like the very epitome of feminine beauty. Delicate flowers of satin festooned the bodice and skirt of her gown whilst the arms were sewn with the sheerest of ivory lama and embellished with tiny pearls. The silk of the gown draped her body like a second skin, emphasising her soft curves beguilingly. Her tiny feet were clad in stockings of softest silk and encased in satin slippers bedecked with jewels. Her fine, mahogany hair was elegantly, yet simply arranged in a chignon with tiny rosebuds weaved enticingly through her tresses. A jewelled tiara sat atop her head and a sheer veil covered her blushing, radiant face.

With the colour of her clear skin complimented by the beautiful gown she wore, Isabella looked no less beguiling than Aphrodite herself.

"You look so _beautiful!"_ A rich baritone sounded from the doorway and Isabella turned immediately to behold her Father.

"Papa." She gasped, taken aback by his unexpected presence. Given the harsh words she had uttered a few days ago, she had never expected to see him again, let alone come to her wedding.

"You really thought that I would forego the pleasure of giving away my favourite daughter just because she dared to speak the truth?," He asked, his brown eyes which so resembled her own, brimming with sadness.

"Papa, I..." Isabella trailed off, her eyes glassy with tears.

"No, child, you should not cry. Today is a happy day." Charles Swan said, entering the chamber and pulling out a rectangular, velvet box.

Prying the latch, he gently opened it to reveal one of the most precious Swan family heirlooms. Inside was a pendent designed such that it resembled a blooming flower. With delicate, pear shaped petals artistically encrusted with tiny diamonds, and a brilliant sapphire in its centre, it truly was a pristine specimen of the art of jewellery-making.

"But...but this is Mother's! Her most prized jewellery and she never parts from it." Isabella gasped.

"It was your Grandmother's who bequeathed it to you. So, you shall have it." Mr. Swan said shortly as he clasped the chain from which suspended the pendent in question, around his youngest daughter's neck.

Isabella lightly touched the sapphire which reminded her of the twinkling blue eyes of her Grandmother, Mrs. Athena Swan, the only woman in her life apart from Rosalie who had loved her unconditionally and her eyes filled with tears.

"Your Grandmother would have been so proud of the fine lady you have become, Isabella. She would have loved nothing more than to have you wear this on the most important day of your life," He paused hesitantly, "And for all it's worth, I apologise for being such a terrible Father." Mr. Swan said softly.

"No, Papa-"

"I was indeed blinded by my love that I had for your Mother, so much so that I nearly forgot you two. Forgot how you needed me more. If only I had been-"

"It is time to leave." Lady Rosalie's cold voice interrupted Mr. Swan.

She glared at her Father frigidly and with a swish of her gown, marched out.

Apparently, she was not so forgiving of Mr. Charles Swan's years of negligence.

* * *

Situated in the illustrious Hanover Square, near Oxford Circus, St. George's Church served as the most popular venue for the high society wedding. Thus, this imposing edifice was also chosen, unanimously for the wedding of Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth and Miss Isabella Swan.

Owing to the enthusiastic and combined efforts of Lady Esme, Lady Alice and Lady Rosalie to organise a wedding befitting a fairytale despite the presence of only closest of family members and friends, the Church was bedecked with flowers.

Profusion of blossoms- roses, orchids, daisies-tied together with silk ribbons hung in the portico. Other myriads of fragrant blooms were artistically draped around the Corinthian columns, naves and galleries.

It was here, near the pulpit, stood the Duke of Alsworth, waiting impatiently for his bride.

Dressed smartly in black breeches, an equally dark cut-away or swallowtail with covered buttons which showed his waistcoat and silk cravat, he looked every inch a regal and powerful member of the peerage. His signet ring glimmered faintly in the light, enhancing his aura of power.

"Do not fret, Edward. She will be here soon." Lord Carlisle said softly.

"My boy has grown up." Lady Esme whispered, fussing over him, her eyes filled with tears.

Giving him a tender smile, his uncle then took her by her arm and guided her towards a seat.

"Yes, Edward. She won't run away now." Lord Emmet whispered, throwing a furtive glance at his Mother. He was standing beside his cousin as the best man.

Suddenly, soft music serenaded in the cavernous chamber, indicating the arrival of the bride and Edward gulped, his stomach twisting in a knot.

First came the Flower girl dressed in white, scattering petals, sweet herbs and seeds, followed by the Maid of Honour, Lady Alice, but Edward paid them no mind, for his eyes were focussed unwaveringly on the entrance from whence his bride was to come.

As the strains of organ music rose in octaves, so did his anticipation, until finally, _finally_ he beheld her.

His heart stopped.

Then, began furiously- its pace doubled.

She was a vision, looking nothing like the blooming young lady on the cusp of womanhood who had captured his attention like no other, yet she was still the same.

But, more... so much more.

Her gown and jewels whilst perfectly made were upstaged in their brilliance by the natural beauty that shone from Isabella. With a delightful blush spreading on her ivory cheeks, her shy smile and sable eyes shone like a beacon from beneath her sheer veil. On her cherubic countenance she wore such tranquillity and joy that it all but radiated from her.

His gaze never wavered from hers as she neared him and finally stood before him.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation..." The Archbishop began, his voice soothing, yet he paid him no mind.

His emerald eyes were fixed on his beloved, drinking in her beauty like a blind man seeing the Sun for the first time. And it seemed Isabella suffered the same affliction as his, for her doe-like eyes matched his intensity equally, brimming with the hope of a new life.

The Archbishop continued reading from the Book of Common Prayers, whilst their friends and families watched the bride and groom who were so obviously in love.

"Edward Anthony Cullen, wilt thou have this woman to thy Wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?..."

Lord Emmet gently nudged the Duke from behind, snickering slightly at his befuddled state.

"I will." Edward said confidently.

The Archbishop then turned to Isabella and asked the question to which she replied similarly.

"Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?"

He then received Isabella's hand from Mr. Swan's and placed it in Edward's.

"I Edward Anthony Cullen, take thee ,Isabella Marie Swan, to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

"I Isabella Marie Swan, take thee, Edward Anthony Cullen, to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

"With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." Edward said softly as he slid the wedding ring in place on Isabella's finger. Then the couple kneeled down, holding hands.

The ceremony went forth as the Archbishop read his blessings, until finally they were pronounced man and wife.

"You may kiss the bride."

With those utterances, Edward groped for her hands and pulled her pliant body towards his. As her softness aligned with his hardness, he lifted her veil and cupped her face gently.

Then he brought his mouth to her lips.

A tremendous spark ignited within him. Fire coursed through him- raw, puissant, passionate. As her lips moulded to his in a gentle caress, the Duke trembled with the onslaught of fiery emotions that welled within him. He drowned in them completely, utterly, forgetting the Archbishop, their families and friends; he was oblivious to the world, to everything except the beautiful woman in his arms.

His wife.

All too soon the kiss ended, but the feelings did not recede. As he pulled back to gaze in Isabella's eyes, the coldness and impassivity that he had donned for years to keep the world at bay, faded.

Yet, he did not feel vulnerable.

Akin to a loving embrace, comforting warmth flooded within him.

As he turned to face their families and friends, Edward Cullen, the Duke of Alsworth felt that entirely unfamiliar, elusive feeling of warmth flutter in his chest.

For the first time in his life, he felt hope.

Yet, why wouldn't he, for he held his world at his side.

* * *

 **So, they are finally married. I hope I wrote it satisfactorily.**

 **Regency Trivia:**

 ***** Herbs and seeds were scattered by flower girls in the bride's path for fertility.

 ***** The 'staying still while having sex and it being only for pleasure of men' part as explained by Rosalie was true. Love-making was seen as pleasurable only for men by a majority. And while men could demand divorce or annulment on the ground of infidelity of their wives, women could not do so. There were several stipulations if women wished to seek separation from their husbands which complicated the matter for them.

 ***** The explanation about illegitimate children also held true in regency era.

 **Reviews?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, Thank you so much for leaving me reviews and putting my story on alert. They always bring a huge smile on my face.**

 **Special thanks to Romana973 and LPsDarkAngel for pointing out my mistakes. They have been corrected. Here is the next chapter. I hope you like it.**

 **Chapter 9: Consummation**

Lord Reginald Barrington, the six years old son of the Duchess of Wiltshire was the first to reach the newly married couple after they signed the Register.

His China-blue eyes regarded the Duke of Alsworth in a curious fashion whilst a frown marred his cherubic face.

Lady Isabella Cullen, the new Duchess of Alsworth gazed at her nephew affectionately, realizing the effort it must have taken for the usually shy boy to stand in front of everyone, especially her formidable husband.

Lord Reginald bowed gently as dictated by propriety and norms of the society, his plump cheeks rosy.

"Your Grace, Lady Esme is your Aunt, isn't she?" He asked softly once he straightened.

Edward glanced at his bride in bewilderment, then turned to the child standing in front of him.

"Yes, Lord Reginald." He replied slowly.

The child turned to look at Lady Esme and then frowned up at the Duke.

"Then why have you taken my Aunt Isabella when you already have one?" Lord Reginald asked innocently, his blue eyes wide.

Momentary silence reigned in the cavernous chamber as everyone gaped at the precocious child, then a warm, melodious laughter echoed. If the attendees were stumped by the child's question before, they were now stupified with their jaws scraping the floor as they beheld a sight so rare, it was almost miraculous.

Unmindful of the stunned stares affixed on him, the Duke of Alsworth guffawed heartily like he had never laughed before. Isabella stared at her husband in awe. She had never seen him so ebullient before and his rich laughter tugged at her heartstrings. She could not help but chuckle with him, his mirth contagious. When he calmed down, he smiled crookedly at the child in front of him.

"Lord Reginald, I have not taken your Aunt away from you. She is now my wife and I can assure you, good sir, that I have no intention of making her my Aunt ever."

"Hail the Gods! I can hear the Angels singing. 'Tis a most miraculous day, or do my ears deceive me? Did the unflappable Duke of Alsworth made an attempt at," Lord Emmet clutched his chest dramatically, his blue eyes widening, " _humour?"_ He gasped in a scandalized whisper.

"Emmet!" Lady Esme chided, however her chastisement was lost in the warm gaiety suffused in her voice.

The light-hearted banter, however reminded the Duke of the others and he once again retreated behind his mask of polite impassivity. Sensing her husband's discomfort, Lady Isabella squeezed his hand affectionately, comforting him thusly. Her heart ached to think that even something as mundane as laughing in front of others made him so uncomfortable.

However, Isabella did not get to dwell on her maudlin thoughts as they were soon surrounded by their family members. After receiving felicitations and well wishes of their family and friends, the couple boarded the carriage to return back to the Barringtons townhouse where the wedding breakfast was to take place.

"You look enchanting, Bella. You are the handsomest woman I have ever seen." Edward whispered softly, taking his bride's small hands in his large ones.

Isabella blushed furiously as she heard the words of such heart-felt praise and smiled shyly, causing his breath to hitch. The emerald green eyes of the Duke darkened with passion as he gazed at her hungrily. Tugging gently on her hands, he brought her near him and cupped her face gently in his palms. Distractedly, he remembered his desire to caress his beauty's cheeks from the night he had dined with the Barringtons three days ago. A shiver of delight went down his spine as the naked skin of his palms brushed against the softness of Isabella's cheeks.

"They are so soft." Edward murmured dazedly and then swooped down to place a kiss on each of her cheeks.

Isabella sucked in a sharp breath, her bosoms heaving. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and her skin tingled pleasantly. Trembling at her own daring, she turned her head slightly to capture her husband's warm lips, eager to feel those incomparable emotions of passion and euphoria that she had experienced earlier on kissing the Duke; when she had been kissed so intimately for the first time in her life.

Startled by her boldness, Edward stilled momentarily which led Isabella to believe that she had scandalized him. Feeling deeply mortified at her own wanton behaviour, she made to move away from him but was pulled back roughly. With a guttural groan, Edward pulled her tightly in an embrace and with the precision of a lion swooping down on his prey, captured her lips in a heady kiss. Fire exploded in his veins- slow, yet devastating. She tasted of rosewater- of freshness and delight. He nibbled lightly on her lips, causing her to moan softly and fist her hands in his hair.

Edward gasped, feeling an intense, pleasurable burn ignite in his groin. His breeches felt uncomfortably tight. Losing his control and any semblance of coherency, his hands travelled to his wife's breasts on their own accord and he squeezed them passionately.

Isabella gasped. Her eyes widened at such an intimate, yet incredibly arousing touch. She knew not what she felt, but a desperation gripped her. She sought _something..._ yet she did not know what.

"Did I hurt you, Isabella?" Edward breathed, staring at her. He had heard her gasp and fearing the worst had broken the kiss. Inexperienced with the pleasures of physical relations and erogenous areas of a woman as he was, the wide-eyed, glazed look of his wife was a confirmation for him that his actions had indeed caused her pain in some way. His libido thus doused, remorse flooded him.

"I am so sorry, Bella. I know not what came over me and I-"

"Please stop," Isabella interrupted him, her pleasure-addled brain finally working out as to what troubled her new husband.

"You did not hurt me, Edward. It was just...your ministrations were very pleasurable." She whispered softly, burrowing her head gently in his chest.

Thus reassured that he had indeed not hurt his wife and feeling quite pleased with himself for pleasuring her, the Duke eagerly raised her face to kiss her again, but was unfortunately interrupted by a firm knock on the door of the carriage.

They had arrived at the Barringtons townhouse.

* * *

It was twilight by the time the newly married couple arrived at the Duke of Alsworth's townhouse. The revellery after their wedding had stretched for quite a protracted period owing in no small amount to the mischievous efforts of the Viscount. Giving some excuse or the other, Lord Emmet had determinedly halted their departure until Lady Esme intervened.

During that time, the Duke's frustration on his inability to spend some time with his wife in privacy had reached great proportion. The time he did not spend gazing at his wife with a wild hunger was spent glaring churlishly at his cousin. Just before the last seam of his patience was rendered to shreds, as providence will have it the tomfoolery of his cousin was finally put to an end by his Aunt.

Ensconced comfortably in the polished wedding carriage bearing the Cullen crest, they reached the Duke's townhouse where Mr. Burnes, his Butler and Mrs. Hulby, his Housekeeper awaited with all the servants to welcome their new Mistress.

As Isabella laid her eyes on the imposing building that was to be her new home, she felt a flutter of insecurity regarding her ability to manage the household. Although she usually disregarded the thoughtless words of her Mother, in moments which held great prominence in her life they always sprang forth with great viciousness stamping down her self-belief.

"What is it, Bella?" Edward asked concernedly, reading the vulnerability in her expressive eyes. He gently pulled her face up to look at him.

"Edward, I..I do not know if I will be able to manage the household of a great estate like yours. What if I do mistakes and-" Edward pecked her lips softly to silence her.

"Doing mistakes is only human, Bella. It is not a crime. Besides, you will not be alone. I will be there for you and you will also have the assistance of Mrs. Hulby and Mr. Burnes. And as it is, I trust your abilities, so you need not worry." He reassured her as the carriage rolled to a stop.

He alighted and held out his hand to help Isabella down. The Duke escorted her to the line of waiting servants and effected introductions.

"Welcome home, wife." Edward murmured softly as he led his bride in the foyer.

Isabella gazed in awe at the interior of the great house. The decór was the epitome of unparalleled taste and class. Axminster carpets covered the marble floor whilst intricately carved furniture, upholstered in silk and satin of earthly hues filled the vast parlour. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling which was adorned with a breathtaking fresco. An enormous staircase, flanked by gryphon-topped newel post anchored the main hall.

She had heard that her husband was richer than Croesus himself, but seeing the irrefutable testimony of his riches was entirely different. The very thought of being the Mistress of such a grand estate filled her with apprehension, but the reassuring words of her husband fortified her.

As the evening progressed, the newly-wedded couple lapsed in silence, charged with anticipation for the night to come. They partook in the sumptuous feast prepared by the cook and retired for the night. In her nervousness, Isabella barely paid mind to her new home. Grasping her husband's proffered arm with trembling fingers, she followed him up the Grand staircase and to a heavy set door.

"Your chamber." Edward told her and then kissed her knuckles, "I shall come to you in an hour, my Lady."

* * *

Time passed at a snail's pace for Edward. Even though he had given her only an hour to get ready for the night, it felt like an eternity. Edward paced in his chamber, tugging at his hairs nervously. He had shed his swallowtail, waistcoat and cravat and was attired only in his white shirt and breeches. He fingered the velvet of the pouch he carried which contained his gift for Isabella.

Anticipation and insecurity warred in his chest, yet the strongest emotion was fear.

Fear that he will hurt his wife, fear of what he might do to her in the firm clutches of his desire.

He remembered all too vividly the painful marks of his father's insatiable libido that the maids and sometimes even his mother had borne. What if he lost his control and hurt Isabella like that?

After all until recently the honeyed feeling of libido had been a stranger to him. It still was except in those stolen moments of privacy with Isabella.

His moments of contemplation were however soon over as a glance at his pocket watch told him that an hour had elapsed. Taking a deep breath to get rid of his macabre thoughts, Edward straightened his shoulders and knocked firmly on the oak door which led to the Mistress's chamber adjacent to his own and after being bidden in, entered the chamber.

Only to stop abruptly on beholding the bewitching sight before him.

In the middle of the huge bed sat his bride clad in a mere peach hued slip which barely hid her pleasing figure from his ravenous eyes; her chestnut curls were loose, tumbling down her shoulders to her waist like a silken waterfall- just as he preferred. Her ivory skin glimmered with an incandescent sheen in the soft glow of candles and her head was slightly bent, hiding her countenance behind the dark curtain of her hairs.

She looked like a beautifully enchanting Siren the paeans of whose beauty Bards sang. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Utterly helpless.

All coherent thoughts left him as he climbed in the bed to sit beside her. Edward stroked Isabella's cheeks and groaned softly as she flushed a fiery red. She smelled of roses and lilacs, utterly exotic and tiltilating. Unable to deny himself her touch any further, he grasped her by the nape of her neck and edged her closer till her lips collided with his. Hesitating merely for a moment, he traced the softness of her lips with the tip of his tongue and felt her shudder against him. As Isabella allowed his tongue entrance in her mouth, his senses began to whirl. Moaning deeply, he reached for her slip tugging at the bodice till it gave way and bared her breasts to him.

Isabella sucked in a sharp breath. Edward drew away from her mouth with a dark stare to watch her alabaster mounds swell in the candlelight. His eyes darkened, the vivid emeralds giving way to swirling onyx as he gazed at her. Recalling her words from before, he held her breasts in his palms and fondled them hungrily, drawing moans from Isabella.

"You tantalise my senses, Isabella." Edward growled, "You have captured my attention like no other since the moment I saw you."

He pulled at her slip, divesting her of it and pushed her down on the bed. Feeling exceedingly vulnerable and shy, Isabella attempted to draw the counterpane to hide her nudity, but was stopped by her husband.

"Do not hide from me, Bella." Edward whispered softly as he removed his shirt and joined her in the bed.

He drew her to him. Her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest, making them moan and igniting a crackle of energy between them. As their lips met in a passionate kiss and their tongues tangled in a primitive dance, the iron clad control that he always had on his emotions, slipped from his grasp. Their hands roved over each other, exploring and pleasuring.

Trailing kisses down her jaw, to her elegant neck, Edward finally reached her breasts and pulled a darkened nipple in his mouth. Suckling it to a darkened peak, he nipped and played with her mound whilst his hand kneaded the other, making Isabella arch against him.

"Please, Edward." She breathed, thrashing her head against the pillows.

She mewled softly beneath, her body pliant to his every action.

However, merely lavishing her in kisses and tasting the ambrosia of her soft skin soon proved to be not enough for Edward, so he removed his breeches. Isabella's eyes widened when she saw the considerable girth of her husband.

"How will _that_ fit?" She gasped, her fear apparent.

"Shh let me pleasure you, my Sweet. I will never hurt you." He assured her vehemently.

Isabella stiffened when she first felt Edward touch her most intimate part, but soon she was writhing and mewling under his tender ministration; the pleasure coursing through her was almost painful. After she came down from the elusive pinnacle of sheer ecstasy, Isabella lay in a senseless heap beneath him, feeling his arousal growing against her leg.

"Let me take you now, Bella." Edward rasped, spreading her thighs.

He brought his aching manhood to her entrance and gently eased within her. Isabella let out an impatient whimper at his slow pace which was enough of an encouragement for him. With a look of deep passion, Edward sheathed himself inside her completely in a swift movement. He felt her maidenhead give way and felt immeasurable guilt for causing her pain when all he was experiencing was pleasure.

"I am so sorry, Bella." He whispered, supporting his weight on his elbows as Isabella winced and groaned in pain beneath him. Edward peppered her face with soft kisses, trying to ignore how she felt around him. She was tight and wet as a dew and it took all his willpower to not to give in to the urge to move...to seek that delicious friction.

A few moments later, she asked him to move and he did. They fit together like a key's perfect entry in its lock. Their cries mingled together as they gave and received pleasure equally. Forgetting the rigid norms of society, Isabella was not ashamed of her passion. She made love to her husband as much as he did to her.

She held on to him, gazing in his eyes which were feral with pleasure and arousal as he took them over the edge. Edward explored every inch of her body as they moved together to achieve that incredible glory- the zenith of delicious ecstasy.

"Edward!" Isabella screamed as a powerful orgasm swept through her. She could have sworn she saw Heaven in that endless moment.

An inferno raged within him as he saw her beautiful face nearly glow with the pleasure he had brought her. Wild possessiveness grew within his chest and he clamped his arms tightly around her till they were so intimately pressed that it was difficult to discern where she ended and he began.

"My Isabella, my beauty," He growled, thrusting in her almost violently until he finally attained his satisfaction.

With a roar, Edward shattered a long and satisfying climax, emptying his seeds within her. He slumped atop her, breathing heavily as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses on his forehead.

After catching his breath, he rolled off of her and pulled her to him, burying his face in her damp neck. Isabella snuggled against him, her heart brimming with satisfaction and adoration for the man beside her.

Her husband.

She sighed softly as his arms tightened around her, pulling her in a warm embrace. Edward lay pressed to her for a long time, tracing her fine features and pressing kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. He hardly dared to believe that the beguiling creature before him was his for the rest of his life.

"My sweet Bella." Edward breathed softly. Isabella smiled at him as she pulled his head down to initiate a kiss, reigniting the fire of passion.

On the carpeted floor lay the velvet pouch which contained the gift that the Duke had bought for Lady Isabella, forgotten and abandoned as the newly married couple made love till the night gave way to dawn.

* * *

 **Regency trivia:**

 ***Weddings-** Contrary to common belief, marriages in regency era were no galas or huge events attended by many. They were solemn and intimate affairs where only the closest of family members and friends attended. No formal invitations were sent out and any over-the-top ostentation was usually frowned upon. The most important part of a wedding used to be signing of the Register by bride, groom and at least two witnesses.

 ***Wedding gown-** Wearing a white wedding gown did not come into fashion until the Victorian era. Brides usually used to wear gowns of light colours which may or may not be white. In fact, Princess Charlotte wore a silver gown in her wedding. I chose a white gown for Bella because it was commensurate with how I imagined her to be on her wedding.

 **Reviews?**


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys,

It has been so long since I last posted and I am afraid that it will continue to be this way for a few more days. Actually, the result of the professional exam I had taken back in November was declared a few days back and I am incredibly happy to share with all you lovely people that I passed it with distinction! Now, I have to work as an intern for three years and I am even more giddy to share that I have been offered internship with few of the leading Accounting, Auditing and Finance organisations in the world. These past few days I have been busy with tests and interviews for the same, hence the lack of updates.

Even though I am ashamed to take time off from you people and my stories again for such a long stretch, I need a few more days. Though, I will definitely try my damndest to post updates in between these interviews, but I can't make any promises. Please be patient with me, guys. I hope you can understand how big an opportunity this is for me.

Lots of love,

Connoisseur97


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi guys! Thank you so much for the well wishes you guys left me and also for the overwhelming response for the last chapter. I am incredibly happy to share with you all that I got selected for the internship, clearing all the interviews and tests!**

 **Now on with the next chapter. I hope you will like this one too.**

 **Chapter 10: Nuances**

 **Ireland**

In the midst of the sweeping expanse of brilliant green of foliage, rose a ramshackle shack in an utter state of disrepair. A hideous blot of gloom nestled in the bosom of the woods, it bore marks of age and work of elements. Although it appeared to have fallen in abeyance, it's ageing, moss covered walls nearly crumbling, the pained moans ensuing from somewhere in its dark depths told another tale.

In congruence with the sombre aura shrouding the dilapidated cottage, it's insides were just as dreary. Strong drafts shook the very walls of the building, yet they were none too cold than the eerie chill which blanketed the tiny room...a rat infested hovel.

Nauseating smell of sickness, rotting flesh and faeces was redolent in the stale air. It was utterly morbid, not unlike a cemetery.

In a corner of this gloomy room lay a frail man on a narrow cot, his each breath- a battle of anguish. His face was shrivelled, his body sunken with each bone protruding against his skin. His teeth were mottled and eyes were an unhealthy shade of grey with age. He wore clothes so torn that they were nothing but a mockery of an attire...a fraying knitwear which more resembled threads than clothes. A threadbare, tattered blanket covered his convulsing body as he shivered in cold.

"Elissaaa..." The man moaned, thrashing in delirium, yet his movements were restricted, for manacles of sturdy iron chained his legs to the wall. Foul smelling blood oozed from the wounds as the scab was once again dug out...the wounds which the man had on his ankles due to the relentless chafing from years of captivity.

"Rest easy, my friend. You will only hurt yourself." A deep baritone came from the doorway.

Another man entered the room with quick steps bearing a container of cool water and scraps of linen.

"My Liz...Fo...r..gi'...hab...save...er." The captive wheezed, coughing till blood came out from his mouth. He shook violently, his body nearly skeletal in his ill health.

His caretaker immediately wiped the blood, his ageing face a mask of misery and helplessness.

"I wish I could help you. I...I wish I had not been part of something so heinous." He whispered in a litany, wiping the captive's forehead.

And it was not the first time that he had prayed so, had regretted his greed for money which had induced him to play an instrumental role in destroying this innocent man's life.

Wallowing in the morass of despair, the caretaker watched as despite his best efforts, the captive's condition worsened till he knew without a shadow of doubt that the end of his charge was near...that the unfortunate man was soon going to be liberated from the Hell he had lived in for past five and twenty years.

Yet, despite the crippling sadness he felt on losing the man whom he had come to value as a friend, he was nearly euphoric to see his sufferings end. The juxtaposition smite at him fiercely as night fell around them, drawing the curtain of the captive's life. The caretaker tried everything to ease the captive's journey from this world to the next.

"Lizz...love..." The captive breathed as the anguish he had been feeling for decades finally numbed.

With a boundless contentment, he closed his eyes to this world and breathed his last. His soul unfettered at long last to reunite with his love who was snatched from him by the duplicity and malice of those whom he thought to be his own.

As life left the captive's eyes, the caretaker bowed his head, offering prayer for the departed soul as tears of regret and shame dripped down his face. He choked soundlessly, grieving for the man whom he had wronged so grievously, yet who had forgiven him.

The caretaker gently closed his eyes, unable to bear the lifeless stare and stood up, "I shall fulfil my promise to you," He vowed, "I shall do right by you this time."

He marched towards the door, but stopped at the threshold. Turning around, he stared at the cooling corpse for a moment, his grief apparent.

"Rest in peace, Edward."The caretaker whispered, then continued on his way.

He had to atone for his sins.

* * *

 **London**

The morning dawned with a bustle of activities in the town house of the Duke of Alsworth. Trunks were packed and the carriage readied for the journey to Hertfordshire.

The newly wedded couple were supposed to depart for Pembrook, the ancestral estate of the Duke of Alsworth. However, a missive from Lord Jasper, Edward's cousin from his Mother's side arrived, inviting them to his estate, thus changing their plans.

After breaking their fast, the Duke and the Duchess of Alsworth started for Hertfordshire just as the sun brightened the horizon. Their journey passed comfortably in academic pursuits and they reached Hertfordshire by evening.

"It is so beautiful!" Isabella whispered as she watched the sun disappear behind a thick copse of trees from her husband's arms.

"Yes, it is." Edward murmured reverently, nuzzling her throat, his eyes not straying from her, which caused Isabella to blush.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of an ancient building situated at the base of the Oakham mountain. Set on a sloping bluff, the imposing edifice which was known as the Pearlstoke House, rose above them as a silent sentinel.

Gathering her skirt in one hand, she stepped down with the help of her husband before he led her to the arcane portico where awaited Lord Jasper.

"Welcome to the Pearlstoke House, Cousin." He greeted the Duke.

"Thank you, Jasper. Please allow me to present to you my wife, Lady Isabella Cullen. And, Bella, this is my cousin-"

"Lord Jasper! It is a pleasant surprise to meet you!" Isabella cried, dropping in a curtsy.

"Indeed it is, Your Grace. But now that we are cousins, I entreat you to call me by my Christian name." Jasper took her gloved hand and bowed respectfully, causing her to blush.

"Then it is only right that you dispense with the formality too and call me Bella," She smiled warmly, her ebullience contrasting starkly with the increasing coldness on her husband's mien.

Edward watched his wife greet his cousin warmly and felt a strange emotion eat at his heart. White hot fury flashed through him as he thought of numerous scenarios that could warrant such familiar greetings.

"You are acquainted with each other?" Edward asked, a hard edge creeping in his voice.

"Yes, we are though I was not aware that he is your cousin," Isabella replied, watching him in perplexity as she took notice of his mounting ire. Jasper looked at him with amused incredulity before glancing at the Duchess questioningly to which she nodded.

"As it is, Cousin, it shan't be wrong to say that is only owing to my...shall we say intervention that Bella is your wife today," Jasper said gravely.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Not here, Edward. 'Tis not a matter to be discussed in open. Do come in." Their host led them to the parlour and rang for tea. After ensuring the comfort of his guests, Jasper began.

"Nearly two years ago, I was approached by Lady Rosalie and Bella requesting my aid the in a matter of great import," He said once the maid left after serving them tea and scones, "Do you remember the scandal that the will of late dowager Duchess of Wiltshire caused?"

The Duke nodded curtly, his eyes fixed unflinchingly on his cousin.

"The dowager Duchess had inherited the entirety of properties and wealth of the duchy of Wiltshire which could not irrevocably go to the next male heir, that was Royce after her husband's death. His Grace, Aldous, bless his soul was a prudent man who could recognise the degenerate that Royce was. So, he bequeathed a vast portion of his property to the dowager Duchess for safekeeping. Of course, Royce had his eyes on it. He had been awaiting his Mother's death for years! But, his vile machinations were thwarted once again. Aside from bequeathing the entirety of properties, investments and liquid assets to Rosalie and Reginald, the dowager Duchess also left me thirty thousand pounds and a house in Bath. Apparently, this incensed Royce greatly since he did not receive anything," Isabella quipped, her countenance pale.

" _Incensed_ is putting it mildly. He was nearly apoplectic with rage! I was even told that he badly beat up a who- _someone_ in one of the unsavoury places he frequented, so great was his ire," Jasper shook his head in disgust, "He wanted revenge from Lady Rosalie and Bella, so he conspired with my dear brother."

"What?" The Duke exclaimed taken aback.

"Oh yes, when Royce was alive, he and James were as thick as the proverbial thieves," Jasper smiled humourlessly, "Accordingly, James _sought_ Royce's permission to court Bella. His request was promptly accepted and he was even preparing to travel to Yorkshire to seek her father's blessings."

"Which would have been undoubtedly given. My Mother would not have left the chance to have me married to a Viscount. She would have influenced Papa to permit him." Isabella spoke grimly, her hands clenched in fists.

"Which is why Lady Rosalie and Bella sought my help. I, then convinced my brother to leave her alone." Jasper said, nodding towards Isabella.

"For which you have my eternal gratitude, Jasper. I shudder to imagine my fate had you not intervened," The Duchess said and then suddenly remembering that it was his brother that she was denouncing, she hastened to add, "I did not mean to offend you-"

"And you have not offended me in any way, my Lady. I am very well aware of the deficiency in character of James, even though he is my own brother."

"May I inquire as to how you stopped James?" Edward asked, breaking a protracted period of silence.

"Nay, cousin. It is not suitable for the ears of a Lady. Suffice it to say, I had to threaten him and my entire family with some well-kept secrets to discourage them from pursuing Bella." Jasper said grimly.

"Your _entire family?_ But...how...why?" Isabella spluttered in bewilderment. This new revelation stunned her. Although she had known that Lord James's family had heartily approved of the alliance between him and her, yet Jasper's words indicated of an ulterior motive.

After a brief moment of contemplation, their host sighed in resignation and told the truth.

"The ton is not aware but...the coffers of my father, the Earl of Dunwich have decimated quite severely in the recent years owing to debauchery and unsavoury proclivities of both him and my brother. Moreover, the exorbitant expenses incurred by my mother and sister pertaining to lace, jewellery and fripperies have further strained our financial position. You already had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds to your name and then you inherited further thirty thousand on the death of the dowager Duchess. Your dowry of fifty thousand pounds was the perfect panacea for the financial straits of my family. They would have sacrificed a limb to have you wed James."

"Yet, they were unwilling to risk a scandal." The Duke commented dryly.

"Apparently. Which reminds me, Mother and Tanya are quite put out with you," Jasper grinned, "And with you, Bella. Not only did you deny them a fortune by not marrying James, but you have also snatched the one person they thought will surely be their deliverance."

"They were hoping for a match between Edward and your sister." Isabella stated wryly.

"Precisely! Tanya has supposedly been _in love_ with Edward since a tender age and theirs would have been the happiest marriage had they entered matrimony. Or so my Mother opines at least. She was in great dudgeon when she heard the announcement of your wedding. As for Tanya, she has refused to leave her chambers since then, apparently nursing a heartbreak."

"I apologise for the hurt caused to your sister, Jasper. I-" Isabella's apology was interrupted by a bitter laugh.

"Do you really think Tanya was genuinely in love with me? No, she was in love with my wealth and the prestige, clout and respect that the position of the Duchess of Alsworth commands. My maternal Uncle and Aunt have never cared for me. I was merely their way out of their financial difficulties, which I might add are the fruits of their own vices. Had I married Tanya, I would have been nothing more than the goose which lay the golden egg for them." Edward explained darkly, his eyebrows scrunched in anger.

"As harsh as his words are, Bella, unfortunately they are nothing but the bitter truth. My parents have always encouraged Tanya to trap Edward in matrimony for his wealth. The duchy of Alsworth is one of the wealthiest in the kingdom. It galls me to say this but my sister is grieving not for her her lost love but for the money and social status that she has always thought of as hers." Jasper expounded sadly.

A heavy silence descended on them following his words as they pondered the bleak reality of their supposedly perfect family.

* * *

The caretaker took up residence in a tavern near Pembrook after three days of gruelling journey. Now he awaited eagerly, almost anxiously for the opportune time when he could reveal the diabolical conspiracy.

The conspiracy which was hatched more than five and twenty years ago by two unscrupulous scoundrels who had no regard for others' life.

The conspiracy which had claimed several innocent lives.

 _But not this time! Not if I can help it._ The caretaker vowed.

It was time for the justice to be served.

* * *

 ***** Marriage among cousins was quite common in regency era, especially among peerage to supposedly 'unite the two great and noble family lines and protect and enhance family wealth'.

 **Reviews?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Wow! Over 350 reviews in just 10 chapters. You guys are simply cool! Thanks for such a great response, people. Here is the next update. Hope you like it.**

 **Warning: If you have triggers or are easily ruffled, then please don't read the last part of this chapter.**

 **Chapter 11: Of Mischief & Mayhem**

"Edward, is this estate your Uncle's? Isabella asked her husband from her perch in front of the vanity.

The night had fallen and after a sumptuous dinner, the couple had retired to their chambers early.

The Duke looked up from the book he was perusing and his eyes darkened as he watched his wife comb her long hair. He found the activity strangely arousing despite its mundane nature. Now that he was introduced to the pleasure of love-making and was intimately acquainted with every glorious curve of his beautiful wife, he could barely contain his hunger. Spending the day in an enclosed carriage with her whilst she looked the very epitome of feminine beauty had been a torture for him. Added to that was the knowledge of precisely what lay beneath the delicate silk of her gown had nearly driven him insane. Yet, he had kept his ardour tightly leashed for he had taken her countless time the night before, till the break of the dawn. She was bound to be sore.

It took him a moment to recall the question Isabella had asked, lost as he was in the ruminations of a much pleasurable activity.

"No, Jasper inherited this estate from his great Aunt who died a few months back. Although it is a small estate with an income of only four thousand pounds a year, it is more than sufficient for him. As it is, he is a second son and even if my Uncle and Cousin James had possessed a good character, Jasper would not have gotten much from his Father. Although he had taken commission, still he would have been required to marry an heiress- one of the painted peacocks of the ton," Edward said dryly, "But now he has this estate and he is finally out from under his Father's thumb. He can do with his life as he pleases and for Jasper, there is nothing more better or opportune than the present circumstances."

The Duke stood up and went to his wife's side. Squeezing her shoulders affectionately, he asked in a desperate voice, "Are you sore, wife?"

The passion smouldering in his eyes had Isabella blushing. Lowering her head shyly, she whispered, "No, My Lord."

Her demurely spoken words were all the permission he needed. Bending down, Edward picked her up in his arms and kissed her hungrily. Tracing her lower lip with his tongue, he urged her to open her mouth for him and moaned throatily as she allowed him entrance. Isabella shyly touched his tongue with hers, but her inhibition was soon forgotten as her husband all but ravaged her mouth. She felt fire coursing through her veins, burning her savagely as he pulled her tighter against his chest. She caressed his scalp and clutched his hairs, tugging him closer.

Her passionate participation aroused Edward to the point of pain, so he quickly lowered her to her feet. With hasty hands, he tried to remove her attire, but only managed to shred the silk shift beyond repair.

"Edward!" Isabella cried, scandalized.

"Too much, darling. I need you too much," He growled, then hissed as she attacked his clothes with equal vigour, sending his cravat and under shirt flying across the chamber, "You can buy hundreds of those shifts if you want!"

With his clothes joining hers on the floor, they tumbled on the bed in a tangle of limbs.

"My wife. Mine!" He snarled as he pulled her closer. He pulled a rosy peak of her nipple in his mouth, suckling and nipping like a babe whilst he fondled the other creamy mound. Isabella gasped loudly, her legs locking around his waist on their own accord. Her centre ached, throbbed with a need so raw that she felt as if she would lose her sanity if left unsatisfied.

"Edward, please, darling! I cannot bear any longer!"

"What is it, love? What do you need?" Edward revelled in the power he had over her. He exhaled loudly when Isabella rubbed her dripping core against his turgid length and he had to resist the urge to rut into her like an animal. His hands reached down to still her thighs causing her to thrash against him.

"I asked you a question, Isabella!" He demanded firmly.

"You! I want you in me. Make me yours," She mewled, her face scrunched in pleasure.

Her passionate words were enough to make him lose control and he entered her warm core in one swift move. He groaned, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as he felt her wet warmth clench around him tightly, welcoming him, arousing him to the point of insanity.

Isabella screamed as she felt him enter her, her arms tightened around him as she clutched him to her bosom. She felt full...too full and the pleasure of it, of him being joined with her so intimately nearly had her sobbing. Heat bloomed in her womb as she desperately clawed at him. She needed it- needed the height of pleasure he had taken her to the night before.

"Edward." She moaned which filled him with great satisfaction.

"Yes, darling. Say my name. Scream my name, sweetheart!" He growled. Even though Jasper and Bella had explained the reason of their prior acquaintance and it had been nothing but valid, still he could not control his reaction. Primal fury and possessiveness filled him as he remembered her delight on meeting his Cousin.

"Mine, Isabella! You are mine. My wife, my mate, my lover!" Edward snarled as he plundered her core at a punishing pace, yet Isabella did not flinch. She met each of his thrust with her own- his urgency fuelling hers.

"Yes! Dear Lord, yes, I am yours!" She hissed, her eyes shut in pleasure.

Their coupling was raw and passionate, fraught with emotions. They moved in tandem in the primitive dance till they came together, screaming in pleasure. Completely spent, Edward collapsed on Isabella with his head nestled in her bosom whilst she cradled him, kissing him lightly on his sweaty forehead. As he regained his wits and the haze of pleasure fogging his brain finally cleared, he grew alarmed.

"Dear Lord, Isabella! I have behaved so despicably...behaved like a brute. Are you hurt?Do you-"

"Edward!" Isabella interrupted him firmly, "You did not hurt me. I...I enjoyed it." She whispered shyly, her eyes downcast. Edward groaned wretchedly.

"You need not lie, Bella. I know I hurt you. I was beastly and-" However, his self-castigation was stopped abruptly by Isabella as she kissed him fervently, reverently. Caressing his cheeks, his jaw, she nearly loved him with her mouth. Despite himself, Edward hardened due to her tender ministrations.

"Bella.."

"Shh," She whispered, "You are too hard on yourself, Edward. Why do you loath yourself so? Why cannot you see how truly wonderful you are...so passionate, kind and loving?"

"Bella-" He tried to interject, but was cut short as she covered his mouth with hers. Gently, she made him roll over so that he lay beneath her. The sudden change in angle made his manhood which was still ensconced in her core, penetrate her depth more deeply. The urge to make love to her again was compelling, yet Edward refrained. He tried to remove himself from her, but she clamped her thighs together.

"You must.. be sor..e, Bella. You m...ust not...Ah." He hissed as she bucked her hips against his whilst peppering his chest with kisses.

"You think too much, husband," She quipped, her eyes darkened with lust. Licking her lips, she pulled him in for a kiss and bit him hard on his bottom lip.

Their breaths mingled as they became one. Moans and fervent sighs echoed in their spacious chamber.

Moving with a tenderness, they coupled again, yet it was in stark contrast to the raw passion from before. The embers of their love smouldered slowly as they moved together lovingly, conversing in a language that only those who have experienced the truest of love can understand. It was not long before their exhausted bodies fell in the hold of Morpheus, tangled together in an intimate embrace even in slumber.

The night was the fortunate witness of their burgeoning love...the promise of joy and hope.

"My heartiest congratulations again on your wedding, Bella. You two are well matched," Jasper grinned widely as he bid the Duke and the Duchess farewell, "And if you ever need saving from my cousin's boorish ways, then you need only say. I shall arrive on my faithful steed and spirit you away to safety."

Isabella laughed in mirth, yet she was not unaware of the sudden tension that gripped her husband. Squeezing his arm where she held him, she inadvertently tried to comfort him.

"I thank you kind, sir, for your offer is indeed tempting. I am afraid that I shall have to decline though- I am quite content with my fate."

Almost unconsciously, Edward released the breath he had been holding, feeling smug and satisfied. Jasper smiled knowingly at him.

"Do not burst your coat buttons in pride, Cousin. You have indeed managed to win the highest prize."

"That I have, Jasper, that I have," A goofy smile lit his face with dimples indenting his cheeks. Isabella gasped, once again struck by the handsomeness of her husband.

Edward glanced down at her and his verdant eyes darkened as he took in her parted lips. Feeling as if he was intruding in a private moment, Jasper walked away to talk to the coach driver.

"Do you know what you do to me, Bella?" Edward's voice was husky.

"You are insatiable, My Lord."

"And I have every right to be, for my wife is so very beautiful. It requires a monumental strength of will to let you out of the bed. If it were up to me, you would forever be in my hold whilst I-"

"Edward!" Isabella chided, her face burning, "Someone will hear us and-

"And they will know how thoroughly I am besotted with my wife which is nothing but the truth," He looked at her mischievously, "Say, wife, will you allow me the pleasure of sating a curiosity of mine?"

Isabella eyed him warily, suspicious of his sudden humour.

"Will you allow me to see for myself how far your blush goes?"

The Duchess's eyes widened as she gaped at him.

"I...you.."

"Cousin, you need to depart if you wish to reach Pembrook before the sun sets. Those roads are not safe enough to travel with a lady after dark," Jasper's deep baritone cut short Isabella's stutters.

Taking their leave from him, the Duke and Duchess of Alsworth finally started for their estate. As the carriage moved along the road of Meryton, Edward drew the curtains shut, plunging them in darkness.

"What are you doing, My Lord?" Isabella started, mystified.

"Why, wife, I asked you a question before and I intend to get my answer," He replied impishly, shedding his coat and removing his cravat.

"Here?"

"Yes, here, My Lady. We shall reach our estate by evening. 'Tis too long for me to deny myself my beguiling wife."

"What if the coachman hears us, Edward? We cannot-"

"Yes, we can and yes we will," He replied mulishly, kissing her neck, "We will just have to be quiet," He nipped her collarbone even as his fingers removed the ties of her gown, "And even if we don't, he shan't dare mention anything." Edward released her hair so that they fell to her waist like a silken curtain.

"Hmm...you have lovely hair, wife," He whispered against the skin of her breasts. Isabella reddened as her gown pooled to her waist.

"And I was correct in guessing that your blush reaches your bosom," His gruff voice dripped with pride as he held the bounty he had uncovered, in his hands.

Several red marks marred the flawless skin of her chest and he caressed them, his eyes filled with masculine appreciation.

"I adore the sight of you covered in my marks, my Duchess."

Isabella's breath left her in a loud whoosh. She was quickly losing her wits under his ministration, yet she once again tried to deter her stubborn husband.

"Ooh...We...are..eeh...in a car...riage, Ed...Oh Lord,...However..sssshall...We ah..."

"Human body is incredibly flexible, Bella. Let me show you, my darling" Edward whispered seductively, biting her earlobe gently. He renewed his efforts with greater vigour when he felt her surrender.

Cloaked in darkness, in that confined carriage bound for Pembrook, the Duke of Alsworth tutored his Duchess on the matter of flexibility of human body.

London

"What do you mean you cannot find him, you useless mutt! Do you have any idea of the trouble we will be in if he came to know the truth?"

"My Lord, we are trying our best. All my men are looking for him everywhere and-"

"But, it is not enough! I shall have your head if you do not find him in time!"

"I..of course, My Lord. I shan't disappoint you," The man bowed meekly and walked away.

"Darling, come to bed," A sultry voice called him and the regal - looking man huffed in annoyance. He could feel a headache building.

How could everything have gone awry so badly? It was all supposed to end, yet everything had come undone.

Heavens help me if Edward came to know. He shall destroy me! The man quailed in fear at the very thought.

Turning back he retraced his steps from the tastefully decorated private sitting room to the chamber where the lovely courtesan awaited him. Earlier in the day, he had escaped the clutches of his hag of a wife to spend some time in his favourite brothel. Yet, his man had traced him here, that too to give the bad news...the news of his failure.

Worthless the lot of them! He thought bitterly.

Entering the chamber, he found the woman lying on the sinfully crimson sheets with nary a stitch on her lissom body. He immediately hardened at the sight of her.

"Turn around, whore!" He spat as he removed the dressing gown he had hastily donned to meet his man.

Smiling seductively, the woman turned on all fours and he mounted her from behind, spanking her harshly.

"Filthy whore!" He growled as he rutted in her writhing body like a fiend, his frustration and anger fuelling him on. Yet, the act was not enough to curb his raging emotions. Even the pleasure of flesh was unable to distract him as he thought of the repercussions for him if the truth was unveiled...the truth of his actions more than five and twenty years ago. He was afraid and that made him brutalise the woman pleasuring him.

When he finally came apart on her behind, the courtesan was covered in bruises and bled from her nose. Grimacing, he threw on his clothes. He had to pay extra because he had hurt the wench which further exacerbated his spleen. He was facing financial difficulties as it was. With a murderous glare at the unconscious woman, he threw a pouch of money on the bed and marched out, his frustration still not quelled. Instead, fear had him in its icy hold, squeezing his heart in a vice - like grip. He should have done what he had originally planned...he should not have allowed himself to be influenced by a madman.

 _Damn Edmund Cullen to the fiery pits of Hades!_

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	13. Chapter 13

**Hi guys! Loads of thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers. Here is the next chapter. I hope you like it.**

 **Chapter 12: The Letter**

 **Alsworth**

As they drew closer to Pembrook, Edward began to point out some local landmarks to Isabella.

"The church was built in 1750. The interiors are a sight to behold, especially the woodwork and..."

A half hour later, the carriage left the main public road for a private one that was wide and well-maintained. They travelled within the park for some time and followed a gentle rise upwards.

"We are here," Edward announced, watching rapture dawn on his wife's face.

Downhill from the crest, a clear blue lake sparkled in the orange glow of the setting sun. Some distance away from the water, situated on a hillock, loomed a stately mansion, set amidst a wide stand of evergreens. A lush spectrum of verdurous green of the landscape was brushed with a vibrant pallet of rainbow of flowers.

Her fatigue forgotten, Isabella stared wide-eyed at her new home, enthralled with the untouched beauty of nature around her.

"It is so happily situated!"

"I am pleased that you found the Manor to your liking, Bella."

"How can I not find it to my liking, Edward? I have never seen a more beautiful place," She replied shyly.

"Yes, despite everything, I too find myself sharing your opinion," Edward said softly, almost as if he were talking to himself. Isabella stared at him, unsure if she was meant to hear his words.

But she did not have much long to ponder as shortly they rolled to a stop in the enclosed courtyard of the house.

Gathering her voluminous skirt in one hand, she stepped down with the help of her husband. As they entered the portico, a plump matron appeared and smiled at them, curtsying respectfully. Liveried servants stood behind her to welcome their new Mistress.

"Mrs. Tate, thank you for gathering the staff. It gives me great pleasure to introduce you all to your new Mistress, Lady Isabella Cullen. I have every confidence that you will treat her with respect and obedience as you do me. It is my hope that you will add to that the same loyalty and affection which I have enjoyed for these many years as you come to know her."

A smattering of applause rang after the Duke finished speaking which quickly died down when he turned to his wife.

"I thank you all for your kind welcome and I look forward to getting to know each of you," Isabella smiled amiably, a light pink dusting her cheeks, "Though, I must ask for your patience for it will take me some time to remember all your names."

Her words were greeted by loud applause and cheers. Her bashfulness and sweet disposition won over even the most suspicious of helps. The housekeeper, Mrs. Tate stepped forward and introduced the staff to their new mistress. The tranquillity on their master's mien bespoke of favourability of the match. With their worries thus rested, the servants offered their felicitations with great enthusiasm.

After the exchange of greetings, the Duke and the Duchess retired to their chambers to clean off a day's worth of dirt.

After their gruelling time in London, the serenity offered by rugged countryside appealed particularly to them. Therefore, it was no wonder that Edward and Isabella settled in Pembrook with a sigh of relief.

But, their desire for some quiet and solitude was fated to remain unfulfilled. The squall which was to turn their lives upside down arrived the next morning in the form of an innocuous-looking letter...the letter which was anything, but ordinary.

"Edward, what is it?" Isabella inquired as she noticed her husband frowning in perplexity at a piece of parchment.

They were ensconced in the massive Library of Pembrook after breaking their fast. Whilst Isabella perused the impressive collection of tomes, Edward worked on estate accounts. It was amidst his mails that he had found the unsigned envelope.

"It is a letter," He looked up at her, "bearing tidings of the death of a cousin, Colonel Edward Faversham."

"Yes?"

"The maiden name of my paternal grandmother was Faversham. Her brother, the late Marquess of Rutherford, Richard Faversham, had two sons- Malcolm, the eldest and the heir and Edward, who purchased a commission."

"I don't understand. What are you trying to imply?"

Edward gazed at her, his mien grave.

"According to my knowledge and that of the rest of the family, Colonel Faversham perished in 1786 in a boating mishap," He began slowly, "Yet, this letter claims that he died only a fortnight ago in Ireland."

Isabella gaped at him for a moment in utter bewilderment.

"Could this letter be a hoax- someone's idea of a lark? Or, was the news of his death all those decades ago a ruse?"

"I do not know, Bella. Though I cannot think of any reason as to why he would not have come forward had he been alive. And not many people have the daring to try to play me for a fool by sending me false information," Edward said, wearing a pensive expression, "Although there is something strange about this missive..."

Isabella hurried to his side and peered over his shoulder at the letter. A faint smell of lemon tickled her nostrils.

"Is that...this paper smells like lemon juice."

"Yes, it does, and look at the manner in which this letter is written. The writer has barely scribbled two lines- just a succinct announcement of Colonel Faversham's death whilst the rest of the paper is left completely blank. There are no words of condolence and commiseration which is customary whilst sending such grievous tidings. Whoever the writer is, he is not trying to be very persuasive if he is attempting to fib us... And, then there is this envelope- it was strangely sealed too. Look here," Edward pointed out the upper flap of the covering which had a slight ridge, "It appears as though it was separately sealed which was hardly necessary, given this large wax seal."

"Let me see it," Isabella picked up the envelope and examined it carefully. A thought struck her suddenly and she left the Library. A few moments later, she returned with a footman wielding a brick on a tray. By then, Edward had solved the mystery of the envelope. In the same penmanship as the missive, a message was scrawled under the edges of its upper flap.

 _There is a secret message penned on the letter. Hold it against a hot brick and it shall appear._

However, the instructions prescribed therein were rendered redundant due to Isabella's actions. She had already understood the probable purpose of the strange mail.

As soon as the door shut behind the footman, she unfolded the letter and tentatively held it against the hot brick. Her suspicions proved correct when, after a while, an odd coloured writing appeared on the lower half of the paper which was left blank by the writer.

"Edward," Isabella called with palpable excitement, "Look, it is a secret message."

Edward hurried to her side and together, they began to read the letter which would shatter his world.

 _To my son, Edward,_

 _When you will read this letter, I shall be dead. I am aware that it will shock you, but it is time that you are made aware of the truth. Edward, I- Colonel Edward Lewis Faversham- am your father. Seven and twenty years ago I met your mother, Lady Elizabeth Linley at one of the balls your late grandmother had organised. At that time, Elizabeth was already betrothed to my cousin, Edmund. Their betrothal was not unlike a majority of other matrimonial alliances of the ton, struck for political and monetary gains._

 _Over time as I came to know her well, I developed a tender for her- which was reciprocated. She was witty, vivacious and so very beautiful that I could not help but adore her. Yet, I resisted for a long time. I struggled to repress my feelings for a woman who was already spoken for, but my efforts were in vain._

 _We knew what we had was forbidden, but our love couldn't be bound or suppressed. As the date of the marriage neared, out of desperation we did something which I have never regretted despite the ramifications we faced. In spring of 1786, mere fortnight prior to Edmund and Elizabeth's wedding, we eloped to Gretna Green. I pledged myself in marriage to your mother before God. We lived there for a sennight, fearing repercussions of our elopement. Yet, Edmund somehow found us and foolish as we were, he managed to convince us that he whole-heartedly accepted and supported our union. Never have I regretted my actions more, Edward, for his acceptance was nothing but a farce. Edmund took being jilted by Elizabeth as a wound to his pride._

 _On the way to London, I was kidnapped by his men. I do not know the entire detail of how the news of our elopement was concealed, but the ton knew nothing. So, Edmund forced your mother to marry him in exchange of keeping me alive. He was a sadist, a demon, a madman who wanted to punish both me and your mother for our betrayal. So, these past five and twenty years, I have spent as a captive in Ireland whilst Edmund tortured two people who are dearest to me- you and Elizabeth. He would send me missives, detailing the pain he had inflicted on you both, torturing me for daring to take away Elizabeth. Yet, I do not pity my sufferings and neither should you for they were my atonement for being so gullible._

 _I have been bereft of you for all these years, but now that I can feel my end is nearing, I cannot bear the thought of you never having known me. Please know that despite having never met you, I love you very much and so did your mother, Elizabeth, even if it might seem impossible to you. There was a devilry at play your entire life, my son, and it is paramount that you find the truth; else I fear that the consequences can be dire. I have had certain revelations lately which I fear I cannot put down on this paper, but you shall know soon._

 _There are many regrets in my life, but the greatest is that I never knew you. Yet, I shall die in peace, knowing that I managed to protect you, that I fulfilled the duty of a father with my dying breath._

 _In the Valley of the Ravens verity shall prevail._

 _Do not trust anyone other than Lord Carlisle and his wife._

 _Believe that I will love you forever,_

 _Your father, Edward Faversham_

 _Ireland, 12_ _th_ _January, 1812_

The paper fell from his numb hands, as Edward stared unseeingly in front of him. His stomach lurched and his breath quickened. The ground beneath him felt shaky as if it would give way, pushing him in an endless abyss. He could not believe...could not apprehend, yet the facts, the feelings were irrefutable.

For a long moment, neither he nor Isabella spoke as they tried to comprehend the implications of what they had just read. Then, he stood up with abruptness, his chair falling to the floor.

"I...this...I do not understand...What?" Edward spluttered his eyes wild.

Isabella was at a loss, her mind drawing up blank.

"How can this be possible? How can this...How come no one knew? Edmund was not my father...this I...I cannot understand! How can something like this stay a secret for so many years?" He cried in agitation, running a hand through his hair.

"Edward, calm down, please," Isabella found her voice at last and attempted to sooth him.

"How can I calm down, Bella? If this is the truth then...then," Edward met here eyes, "Then, my real father is dead before I even got the opportunity to meet him. And my mother...my mother was never really married to Edmund Cullen and I am not the rightful Duke of Alsworth. I am not _his_ son. Damn it all, I am not even a Cullen!" He collapsed on a chaise with his head buried in his hands and whispered, "I am a Faversham."

"But, we do not know for sure, Edward-" She began cautiously only to be interrupted by him.

"Yet, it makes sense. Edmund _hated_ me, Bella! Yes, I know that it is not uncommon among peers to be indifferent to their children or even dislike them, but _he_ loathed me with a passion. I still remember how he would come up with newer ways to abuse me and the night he murdered my mother, he actually tried to kill me too."

"He...he tried to _kill_ you and he _murdered_ your mother?" Isabella gasped horrified.

"Yes, he did. He pushed my mother down a flight of stairs in my other house, Ryndall. I saw it all too, but nobody believed me, except Aunt Esme and Uncle Carlisle. And even if others believed me, nobody spoke against him. The coroner, the servants, everyone knew that my mother's death was not an accident, but they still kept quiet, fearing Edmund's wrath. He was a beast, Bella, with nary a conscience. He had no regard for anyone's life, except his own."

Bella was shocked with the brutal picture he had painted. She felt her heart ache for him, for the adversities he had braved. With tears brimming in her eyes, she embraced him, burrowing her head in his chest.

"I always used to wonder as to why he detested me so. And now I know the truth, or at least I _think_ I know, for this can as well be a jape. But then again, there is that sally..." He trailed off and shook his head, determination glinting in his eyes, "I intend to find the truth, Bella."

Isabella leaned away from him, nodding her head.

"How?" She queried then understanding dawned on her, "It is related to that _Valley of Ravens_ , isn't it? You are acquainted with that reference?" Edward gave her a small smile.

"Yes, unknown to everyone, my mother bequeathed a small estate in Cornwall to me- Ravensdale. I have never seen it, but it seems that I need to visit it promptly."

"I am coming with you, then."

"No, you are not, Bella. Although I doubt anyone shall dare to play such an abominable joke, or even know of that place, still I do not wish to take a risk. It might be a trap."

"You are not going without me, Edward. I refuse to be parted from you," Isabella jutted her chin in obstinacy.

"Do not insist, Bella. I do not want to endanger you," Edward reasoned in exasperation.

"You cannot expect me to sit here, not knowing anything whilst you go and-"

"On the contrary, that is _precisely_ what I expect of you."

"You are being unreasonable, Edward!"

"So are you!"

And so they bickered, unaware that at that very moment, in a nondescript coach sat the Caretaker, travelling to Cornwall.

He had accomplished the first stage of his mission.

* * *

 **Cornwall**

Two days later, the Duke and the Duchess of Alsworth, accompanied by several burly footmen reached the steeply wooded town of Cornwall- Redruth.

Nestled at the foot of Bullers hill, emerged the old, ivy-covered stone house from a shroud of mist ahead of them, like a ghastly spectre.

They had reached Ravensdale.

* * *

Kudos to **VryUnique** for correctly guessing the mystery.

 **AN:** Edward Faversham's secret letter was written with lemon juice. When it dries, the writing becomes invisible on the page. However, the acidity of the lemon juice weakens the paper where it makes contact with it. When heat is applied to the paper, the weakened areas begins to heat more quickly, darkening the script. Although, nowadays it is the stuff of children's spy kits, variations of this method have been used for centuries to pass along hidden messages in serious situations.

 **In the next chapter, I will reveal as to why the smell of lemon did not fade.**

* * *

 **Reviews?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys! So terribly sorry for delay in update. I had to move to another city for my internship, hence there were no updates. But now that I am officially enjoying the organised chaos that is the corporate world, I will try not to take such a long break.**

 **Here is the next chapter though. Hope you like it.**

 **Chapter 14: Ravensdale**

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Ravensdale was charming.

A cornucopia of sublime hues greeted them as the carriage rolled along the well maintained drive. Trees and flowerbeds surrounded the stone house in a ruggedly appealing manner, unmarked by any tasteless artifice, capturing the wildness of nature aptly. A fountain rested in the centre of the entrance whilst a notched roof stable was off to the right. The house itself was made of stone, fitting in the viridescent countryside delightfully.

A formal garden occupied the back of the house. Trellises with grape vines and wooden benches were scattered around the lawn whilst several well marked paths led to the depths of circumambient woods. Several Grecian statues dotted the yard, adding to the graceful loveliness of the estate.

It was indeed a place which could inspire poetry even in those who possessed no art for flower prose.

The pristine surroundings of Ravensdale were reflected in its insides too.

The marble hewn floor was covered with lush carpets. Huge windows overlooking the panoramic views, made the rooms light and airy. The portico, the drawing room and the parlour were handsome, filled with furnitures covered with drop clothes.

Giving in to her curiosity, Isabella set out to remove the clothes and found elegant furnishings devoid of any garish ostentations. Not a speck of dust was to be found; the wall covers and curtains appeared in good condition.

The partial staff of the estate was evidently efficient and was told as much by Isabella who commended their efforts with sincerity. Her humility and sweetness soon endeared her to every servant of the estate, who- as she found- lived in cottages in the backyard of Ravensdale.

However, it was the Library which seemed to house hundreds of tomes that pleased her the most.

She ran her fingers over the spines of books with unmistakable reverence. William Shakespeare, Samuel Johnson, Geoffrey Chaucer were some of the most prominent, yet expected names, but it was the copy of _A Vindication of the Rights of Woman_ by Mary Wollstonecraft, which surprised and thrilled her. She had always wanted to read that particular book, but had never had an opportunity in the past.

"Oh, Edward, come see! There are so many great books. This Library is truly the work of an erudite!" Bella exclaimed, her rapture on finding such a pedantic haven momentarily distracting her from the melancholy that had gripped her since she had first read the portentous letter. Edward smiled indulgently at her. Her obvious cheer heartened him.

Despite the solemnity of their circumstances, they could not help but find Ravensdale to their liking.

"This place is so lovely! I feel as if I can spend my entire life here, yet find it not to be enough," Isabella laid her head on her husband's shoulder.

"That is what he said too," An unexpected voice startled them and the Duke and the Duchess were immediately surrounded by some of their footmen, whilst others rushed to secure the intruder.

The moment of truth was near.

* * *

He resembled a spectre.

With his hands bound behind his back, he stood before the Duke and the Duchess, eyeing them intensely. His long, matted hair framed his sallow face whilst a thick beard obscured the bruises and cuts on his sunken cheeks. He was attired in a nondescript black cloak which hung from his frame loosely, making him appear malnourished.

There was nary an emotion on his face, though a perturbing, manic glint resided in his eyes.

Aside from his mysterious greeting, he had refused to utter a word. The man had merely bowed to the Duke and Duchess after he was thoroughly checked for arms and stood before them in silence. .

But Edward had understood the cause of his reticence, and ordered his men to leave them.

Howbeit, when the door closed behind the footmen according them privacy, their captive's lips stretched in a parody of a smile, showing his yellowing, mottled teeth.

"Ah, so this is what has him riled," He man chuckled, appraising Isabella.

Edward stiffened and stood in front of his wife to hide her from the other man's roving eyes .

Yet, it was Isabella that made the captive grin ferociously, making him appear quite like a madman.

Straightening her spine, she met his onyx gaze without a shadow of fear or apprehension.

"And 'tis no wonder why. You ain't no painted peacock of the ton," He bowed his head in deference, "I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Your Grace."

"What purpose do you have?" Edward asked coldly, apparently unwilling to observe social niceties.

"Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace, I did not wish to offend either you or your lady wife...Please allow me to introduce myself."

Edward nodded curtly.

"I am Alistair Garrick, Your Grace. And I seek an audience with you to discuss a matter of paramount import."

"Whatever you say, do not dare to deceive me, Garrick. Know that if your tale turns out to be a falsehood, you shall face my wrath."

"I have no intention to dupe you, Your Grace. As it is, I am not undeserving of your displeasure, for I have sinned...I am the destroyer of your childhood and the lives of your mother and father," Alistair paused, "Your _real father."_

With a supreme effort of will, Edward managed to hide his turmoil. Yet, Isabella sensed his disquiet and moved closer to him to offer comfort.

"I am a felon, Your Grace. There was a time, I used to reign the seedy underbelly of London, carrying out dirty deeds of rich and influential. Murder, thievery, abduction were my living. I used to thrive on them, on my villainous iniquitousness," His voice was gruff with self loathing, "I never saw any wrong in my... _occupation,_ for it brought me money for ale and whorehouse," He barked out a laugh.

Isabella coloured at his crude words, but held her composure.

"Do pay mind to your language, Garrick." Edward bristled.

"Please forgive my lapse in propriety,Your Grace. I forgot myself." Alistair was chagrined.

"Please continue your tale, Mr. Garrick." Isabella smiled reassuringly, placing a calming hand on Edward.

"Nigh over twenty five years ago, I was approached by a man for taking a hostage. It was nothing out of ordinary, or at least that was what I thought at first. But, 'twas nothing like the proposals I was used to receiving...I was not to hold my captive either for ransom, or to simply kill him. No, I was supposed to keep him imprisoned for the rest of his natural life. I was to be his turnkey, for which I was offered an amount which was...impossible for me to refuse. Although I was loathe to leave my life of living in the shadows of constant danger, yet I could not refuse such a windfall gain. So, I accepted. With the aid of my men, I abducted the target in the cloak of night and spirited him away to a remote part of Ireland, miles away from civilisation. That marked the beginning of Purgatory for _him._ Oh, he was never tortured. But, he eked away an existence far more brutal. Chained in a dingy hovel like a beast, in the sole company of his regret, longing and hopelessness, he rotted away for years. Had it been any other man, he would have surely died in a month or two, or at least he would have been driven to insanity, but _he_ was not a lesser man. No, he was brave...your father was so very brave. He endured till the very end and even had the fortitude to forgive...to...to..." Alistair broke off, trembling.

"I am your culprit, Your Grace. It is because of me that you and your mother lived such a miserable life. I am the one who separated him and your mother. I am the one who read the monthly letters Edmund Cullen used to send, detailing the torment he had inflicted on your mother and you. Every bruise, every rape, every beating was described in detail. Once or twice a year, he himself used to visit, to laugh at Edward, to revel in his pain. Those _meets_ were always horrible; they always left him drowning in acute misery for months...Still none of them had anything on the his visit, after your mother was murdered. Edmund himself came to tell of her death, to recount her last moments, her screams, her fear...I still remember the pleasure on his mien as he narrated the entire incident. Then those coming months...Edward was deranged with grief. His sorrow was terrible to behold, impossible to comfort. Had it not been for you, I doubt he would have survived Lady Elizabeth's death. You were his hope, his sole will for living."

"How could he do that? How can _anyone_ do that?" Isabella cried, horrified. She clutched Edward to her, crying silent tears. A sob tore out of her throat as she felt her husband pull her in a protective embrace.

"Edmund Cullen was a monster, Your Grace, whose devilry you are yet to get acquainted with," Alistair said sadly.

"What do you seek to achieve? If what you say is true, are you not afraid of punishment for your crimes?" Edward demanded, attempting to control the onslaught of painful emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Your Grace, I am aware that you have no reason to trust even a single word which comes from my mouth, but...The decades I have spent ensuring the continued captivity of your father opened my eyes to my horrendous mistake. At first, I felt nothing for it, felt no compunction for the part that I played in the entire sordid saga. But as the years went on, I could no longer suppress the voice of my conscience...I could not help but be affected by the sufferings of your father, your mother and you; One would have to be inhuman to not to. I cannot put to words the shame and regret I have felt for my deeds, Your Grace. In my misguided youth, I committed an atrocity for which there is no pardon, no forgiveness. My greed for materialistic comfort, my enjoyment in misdemeanours led me astray, and I shall regret the folly of my youth for the rest of my life...So, no, sir, I am not afraid of any punishment. In truth, I welcome it, for it will perhaps unburden my soul, release me from the torture of my own repentance and helplessness," Alistair bowed his head.

"I owe your family, Your Grace. I cannot allow you to be wronged in the similar way as your parents...It is my penance. It is imperative that you know the truth...Now more than ever, for I fear that there are some who are scheming to destroy everything you hold dear," The man pleaded, his eyes flickering to the Duchess. Edward gritted his teeth, a coldness gripping his heart at his insinuation, but before he could raise a question, Alistair resumed his story.

"Edmund Cullen was not only a sadist, but I have long harboured suspicion that he was not entirely right in the head too. He was the reason why your mother was never affectionate with you, even though you were her pride and joy. Edmund had threatened her that he would make your life unpleasant if she did not isolate you. He never allowed Lady Elizabeth to treat you any more than one would a stranger...a nuisance even. He hated you for who your father was and sought to hurt you in every way imaginable."

"What?" Although he was not prone to any show of weakness, yet Edward felt his mind spin. It was too much. What this man said...told was too much! His entire life, everything he had believed in was in shambles. And he had had disconcerting feeling that these disorienting unveilings were just the beginning.

"Yes, as callous as it sounds, it is nothing but the truth. But, I digress," Alistair sighed, "Edmund kept Edward alive for years as a punishment for wounding his pride by eloping with Lady Elizabeth. I thought, or rather hoped that after his death, Edward would be free. Or at least we would have a chance to escape that Hell hole. Alas, it was not to be! He was so pitiless, that even after his death, he ensured that Edward would not be free of his prison. It was that which made us doubt that it was not merely the late Duke of Alsworth who had schemed to abduct Edward...that there was someone else involved too, who had managed to remain behind the scene. It was then, that I started investigating, for it was the only way I could help Edward. I had dared not attempt to take him away before Edmund died, for we feared that either you or your mother shall bear his displeasure...I did try to rescue him after that cur's demise though, but my plans were thwarted at all turns. It seemed that whoever was his accomplice, had grown more insecure and fearful. Many more new men were employed to keep watch on Edward. There was also a time, when I feared that Edward would be killed, that this accomplice wouldn't leave him alive, but your father was not harmed. I was confused, but nonetheless grateful. As for Edward, I believe that only the thought of you bolstered his spirit enough to live. He loved you very much."

"You said something earlier. About how someone is trying to destroy everything I hold dear..." Edward could no longer contain himself. He wanted to know if his doubts were true.

Alistair met his eyes, his expression darkening.

"Yes, Your Grace. Edmund's accomplice is after Her Grace's life _."_

* * *

 ***Turnkey-** Jailer.

 ***A Vindication of the Rights of Woman-** Published in 1792, this book was written by Mary Wollstonecraft. It was considered a 'feminist literature' and sought rights for women, whilst raising some and criticising points such as 'excessive sensibility of women'. Although it's is believed by many that the book received hostile reception, that's not true. The book was a success, though there were some who were vocal in criticising it. In fact, Thomas Taylor, the Neoplatonist translator, wrote a satire titled 'A Vindication of the Rights of Brutes: If women have rights why not animals too?'

 ***Portentous-** Fateful.

* * *

 **This was a crucial point to leave. The mystery is about to unravel...or is it?**

 **Reviews?**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hiya! I am stumped and flattered with the response to the last chapter. You guys are incredible! Please keep the reviews coming. They make my day.**

 **Chapter 14: Caprice**

* * *

 **London**

Society is fickle.

Society is opportunistic.

It holds nothing in regard, but riches and influence.

Consistent in its sadism of relishing in the troubles of others, it is ravenous for scandals and bruits. Enslaved by the tides of time, it is an ugly visage of caprice of the mankind.

As was disconcerting, but not unexpected, the gossip of the _unfortunate_ compromise and subsequent marriage of the Duke of Alsworth, became old in a few days. It was not that the wedding of the most eligible bachelor of the ton to a country chit (even though she had a dowry of fifty thousand pounds), failed to incite resentment in the Matchmaking Mamas, and their daughters. Or that the discontent of the Ladies who had hoped to match their sons and nephews to Isabella, diminished.

Nay, that would be a most blatant untruth.

Yet, it was also a truth that time reduces the sting of even the most grievous wounds.

So, while the tittle tattle, both kind and spiteful, about the new Duchess of Alsworth, circulated in many drawing rooms of London, they eventually lessened owing to the attractions of the season. Nursing the disappointment of the loss of opportunity of becoming the Mistress of the richest duchy of the kingdom, or becoming fifty thousand pounds richer, as was the case with Isabella, the ton began to look for eligible matches again.

Wealth and properties were assessed, political clout determined and connections established, whilst parameters such as soundness of character and wellness of demeanour were disregarded as trite.

In such cases, the will of the person involved held no weight, as Lady Rosalie Barrington soon found out much to her distaste. Her unparalleled beauty, immense wealth, and exalted position of being the Duchess of Wiltshire, accorded her the dubious status of one of the most desirable prospective brides of the high society of London. So it was nothing but ordinary that she attracted every unattached gentleman as flowers did bees.

Her social itinerary was painstakingly learned, and connections solicited for affecting an introduction. Whispers of her large fortune and grand estates filled the ballrooms while betting books were started in White's as to who would win her hand in marriage.

The resulting imbroglio was vexing and unnerving for Lady Rosalie who had come to abhor the very institution of marriage, owing to her late husband, Royce Barrington. Surrounded by charming mercenaries who were eager to get their hands on her fortune, she felt suffocated. While there were some men who bowed out from pursuing her after sensing her reluctance, their numbers were quite few. Therefore, the Duchess of Wiltshire often found herself in the undesirable company of curs and rakes of the ton, despite being quite forward in deriding them to their faces.

However, she despised none of her _suitors_ more than she did one.

Lord James Whitlock, the Viscount Rutelage, and the dearest friend of her deceased husband.

"Please allow me to extend my compliments on how _fetching_ you appear this evening, _My_ Lady," Lord James leered with a predatory glint in his eyes. He took a step forward, deliberately moving closer to cause her discomfort.

Suppressing a shudder of revulsion, Rosalie observed him coolly, neither misreading his intent, nor missing his inflection.

"Thank you, Lord James," She bit out succinctly, her eyes glacial, "You are _most_ kind!"

"If your are not otherwise engaged, then may I request your hand for this set?" He continued charmingly, undeterred by her apparent hostility. In face of such bold coquetry, Rosalie lost her tentative hold on her anger and glared at him in distaste, but James was not to be swayed. Without waiting for her reply, he tried to take her hand in his, but was interrupted by his younger brother.

"I am afraid not, dear brother, for Her Grace has bestowed on me the extraordinary honour of agreeing to be my partner for this set," Lord Jasper said with a blithe smile, sounding anything but regretful. He turned to the Duchess and bowed respectfully, holding out his hand to her.

"My Lady."

Relieved on getting an opportunity to flee from the displeasing company of the lecherous Viscount, she accepted the offered escape promptly. Before Lord James could do anything more than sneer, Jasper whisked Rosalie away to the dance floor, away from his odious brother.

"I beg you pardon for the breach of propriety, Your Grace, but I could think of no other way of getting you away from James."

"There is no need to apologise, Lord Jasper. You have done me a great service by rescuing me from him."

Jasper bowed his head in acknowledgement of her gratitude, his mien grim. He cast a surreptitious glance to their surrounding, then lowered his voice to speak urgently.

"It would behoove you to stay as far away from my brother as possible, Your Grace. He is quite determined to make you his wife."

Lady Rosalie started at his abrupt warning, missing a step in the reel, but she was ably guided by her partner.

"My Lady, are you well? Do you need to sit?" He asked, eyeing her ashen countenance with concern.

"No, I am well, Lord Jasper. I was merely...I did not expect him to..." She trailed off, her voice laced with disgust.

Jasper nodded gravelly.

"I can understand, Your Grace. To be the object of attention of James is a truly horrid fate. One I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy...I entreat you to be vigilant though, for he is not above employing unsavoury methods to fulfil his desire."

"Believe me, Lord Jasper, I have no intention to once again entrap myself in the shackles of marriage," The Duchess spat the last word as if it was an imprecation, "Especially not to someone like him."

Jasper smiled wryly at her euphemism. "I have indicated of James's intentions to Lord Carlisle's family. Rest assured, Your Grace, that you shan't be alone."

"What? What possessed you to do so? Why would you tell them of my troubles?" Lady Rosalie cried in indignation and befuddlement.

"It is not necessary to shoulder all your burdens alone, Your Grace. Besides, accepting help sometimes gains one that which is elusive." His cryptic utterances marked the end of their conversation as well as set.

She was still trying to make sense of his words, as she watched Jasper disappear in the swell of crowd.

* * *

 **St. James's Square, London**

"This is all his fault! Perdition be to that wretched devil!" The man spat, pacing the length of his Study, "If I had not listened to him, if I had not cared for that money, then this would not have happened. But that lout had to impose that condition...Why in the name of Heavens was it so imperative to keep Edward alive? We had everything that we needed, then..."

"My Lord, please we need to-"

"And his son will annihilate me, if he comes to know! That treacherous bastard, Garrick! I will tear him apart. How dare that vermin ruin everything! Sanders, whatever shall we-"

"My Lord, please do not-" The man named Sanders, tried again, but his Master was too far gone to notice.

"And now everything is disintegrating piece by piece. My years of planning, patience...All is for naught!" He loured, his face turning an ugly puce.

Albert Sanders gazed at his employer with a morbid fascination. It seemed as if the man's fear had pushed him to insanity, robbing him of his senses and composure.

But then again, the situation they were in was truly dangerous and terrifying...a situation, he had helped create.

Sanders had always prided himself for his sharp intellect and astute discernment.

It was this ability of his that had helped him rise from abject penury to his current position of the steward of a peer.

It was this ability of his which had made him indispensable to the clodpole that was his employer.

It was this ability of his that now gave him a chilling foreboding.

Sanders had known, had realized, though he had refused to acknowledge it that letting Edward Faversham live after the death of Edmund Cullen was an imprudent decision. Despite his fallacies and a touch of madness, the late Duke of Alsworth had been shrewd enough, that had the abduction of Colonel been unveiled, he would have somehow escaped the resulting fallout unscathed.

But, the same did not hold true for his employer- a conceited, privileged noble who seemed to find even using his mind a chore, yet thought that the world owed him simply for breathing.

Still, Sanders had not said anything.

For the first time in his life, he had disregarded his voice of reason for the money, the continued imprisonment of Colonel Faversham brought him and his master. Enslaved by his rapacity, he had turned a blind eyes to the foolishness of such a course of action, ergo laying down the foundation of his own destruction unwittingly.

It was ironical how he had always prided himself for his avarice. How, despite being taught otherwise, Sanders had considered his greed to be his greatest strength.

Not that he had no justification for his beliefs.

It was his greed, his lust for knowledge and power which had freed him from the shackles of poverty and ignorance.

It was his greed which had kept him motivated to accumulate more money and influence.

It was his greed which had aided him in earning thousands of pounds, despite being a mere steward.

His greed had never failed him, never let him stop, never let him lose... _never let him down._

Yet...it would be his greed, which would bring his downfall.

 _Choices seal the fate,_ indeed.

* * *

 **Ravensdale**

"What?" Edward's voice pierced the shocked silence like the crack of a whip, "Do you know what you are talking about?"

"Your Grace, I speak nothing, but the truth, for indeed he wants Her Grace dead," Alistair affirmed earnestly.

The Duke observed him for a few tense moments, attempting to discern any sign of lies and deceit. Something in the other man's harried, open face, eventually, convinced him of the veracity of his claim, and he clenched his fists.

"I had one of my most trusted men follow Cain Mathews, who was the leader of thugs who were hired to ensure continued captivity of Edward after Edmund's death. The price was too high; Cain and his men were too dangerous. Had anyone of _them_ come to know of our investigation, we would have been killed. But-"

"Pardon my interruption, Mr. Garrick," Isabella pursed her lips, "but if you managed to have Mr. Mathews followed, despite the danger involved in _that_ particular endeavour, then I find it hard to believe that you never managed to free Colonel Faversham in all these years. Even your escape from Ireland proves otherwise. I understand why you dared not flee when Edmund was alive, but you could have tried to vamoose after his death. It would have been exigent and dangerous, yes, but not impossible. With proper planning, you could have liberated Colonel Faversham, as well as yourself."

"Your argument is indeed valid, Your Grace. Unfortunately, by the time Edmund died, Edward had already spent nearly seventeen years in internment. Those years did not treat him kindly. Although lack of nourishment and wretched living condition weakened him severely, but it was the mental torment that was inflicted on him by Edmund, which broke him. Even if I had managed to break him out of there, he wouldn't have survived the arduous journey. Edmund had him imprisoned in a tiny shack in the middle of the woods, miles away from any inhabitation."

Isabella was stunned. Given her gentle temperament, she could not bring herself to even contemplate such inhumanity…such act of sheer, unparalleled hatred. For a human to torture another was unthinkable...unpardonable.

 _Beastly!_

Her eyes filled with tears and she choked back a sob, grieving the misfortune and sufferings of Lady Elizabeth and Colonel Faversham.

"Shh, love. Do not distress yourself," Edward consoled her, pulling her to him.

"This is so wretched! How can Edmund treat his own cousin in such a ghastly manner! How can one human be so cruel to another? Oh, Edward!" She cried, horrified.

Kissing her forehead, her hair, her eyes repeatedly, Edward whispered words of comfort to ease her misery. In the circle of his arms, Isabella let go of the tight leash she had on her emotions. She mourned for them...for a lost childhood and crushed hopes, for a lost love and broken dreams, for anguish and sorrow, for loathing and spite. But most of all, she grieved for all that her husband had endured- the man who was her sole shelter in the storm that was ravaging their lives.

Sensing their need for privacy, Alistair wordlessly walked to the window overlooking the backyard of the estate, leaving the Duke to comfort his wife.

It took a while for her tears to abate after which Isabella apologized to him embarrassedly.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Garrick, for losing my composure."

"I understand, Your Grace. It is only natural for you to be upset. The recounting is certainly not for any faint of heart...But, if you are feeling better, can I continue to…" He trailed off hesitantly.

"Perhaps it will be better if you did not hear any further, Bella," Edward intervened, looking at her in concern.

"No, I am fine. I want to be here. I shan't leave you to bear this alone, Edward!" Isabella raised her chin in defiance, balling her hand in his coat.

The Duke gauged her for a moment, and she met his appraising gaze unflinchingly.

"Very well," He sighed at last, knowing any further arguments will prove to be futile, "You may continue, Garrick," He agreed, feeling weary.

"My man, Liam, kept an eye on Cain, but for a long time we found nothing. As it was, we were not allowed to leave the woods, except for getting necessities and other extenuating circumstances. Even then, no one could go alone; there was too much distrust between my men and that of Cain, but still we coexisted," Alistair spat, his distaste for the man apparent, "We were beginning to lose hope that we would ever uncover anything. Cain was too cunning to leave behind any evidence, and unlike Edmund, whoever was responsible for the continued captivity of your father, never visited."

"Did you find the identity of this accomplice, or not?" Edward had reached the end of his tether. The monologue of Alistair was beginning to irk him. Although, he did want to know what happened to, for all intents and purposes... _his father_ , but his priority was Isabella's life.

The very thought of her being in danger chilled his blood and stoked the embers of his anger to a blazing inferno.

 _I cannot live in a world where she doesn't exist; I wouldn't survive it!_ His entire being shied away from the very thought of her death. Merciless tentacles of fear clutched him, pulling him inexorably towards abyss of pain and trepidation.

 _I can't lose her! I won't!_ He vowed ferociously, his arms tightened around her, holding her like a talisman against the hopeless darkness of his own thoughts. Isabella embraced him, allowing him to hold her protectively. Possessively.

For a while they said nothing but held each other, communicating wordlessly as only those who are in love are capable of doing.

Eventually, her soothing warmth thawed his macabre coldness, and something rose in his chest...something mighty, untamed and puissant.

Deadly.

"Who is he, Garrick?" Edward growled, baring his teeth in a murderous snarl, "Who dares to have designs on _my_ wife's life?"

To say Alistair Garrick had seen terrible things, would be a statement as bland a truth as stating that the sun rose in the east. He had seen and committed sins so utter, so horrendous that even eternal banishment to Hellfire would seem like grant of clemency.

Yet, as he met the Duke's eyes, he could not suppress a shudder of dread. With Edward's viridescent orbs changing to obsidian of death,they contained a fire so baneful, so overpowering that it had the potency to burn the world to ashes.

They contained wrath.

* * *

 **Reviews?**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi guys! So sorry to leave you all hanging in the previous chapter. I intended to give the name of the culprit there itself, but by the time I reached the end of the chapter, I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. But this chapter has all the answers. Thanks!**

* * *

' **Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.' - J.K. Rowling**

 **Chapter 15: Seeds of Hatred**

 **Leighwood, Dovedale**

"He's failed, My Lady," The man informed, keeping his eyes on the floor, "His men are unable to locate Garrick."

He dared not meet her gaze which he could feel upon his person. After years of working for her, and serving her in _more_ than one way, he had accepted and reconciled to the eccentricity, and dare he say, _madness_ of his mistress. But what he could not get habituated to were her eyes- the orbs which were as dark as midnight.

The ones which were an apt reflection of the blackness and malevolence of her soul.

"Leave me," The woman commanded with a cold detachment, seeming to be unaffected by the news she had received. Bowing in acquiescence, the man backed out of the room, taking a deep breath of relief.

Once the door was shut behind her servant, the woman rose to her feet, carefully adjusting the volumnous skirt of her gown. With a frigid nonchalance she hobbled to an ornate mantelpiece beside the hearth. Her stony eyes raked the object hung atop the lacquered wood, observing every swirl and stroke keenly.

It was a painting.

The painting of a happy family.

The painting of a family that she had once loved, but was never allowed to be a part of.

The painting of a family who had spurned her, refused her for her handicap, was _ashamed_ of her.

The painting of _her_ family.

"I wish you could see this, Father," She spoke in a lilting voice, slowly, deliberately caressing each word, "I wish you could see the achievements of your burden, of your _shame._ I wish you could see the fruits of my cunning. Even your precious one is destroyed, Father. Gone!" She trilled out a cold laughter, her head thrown back in mirth, "Yes, yes, truly gone! Oh, how he had gasped and retched, how he had pleaded and begged, before losing his speech, Father, just like I used to beg him, just like old times...I know, I know you must have _ached,_ turned in your grave at his fate, but you have to understand that it was for the best. I had to ensure your happiness, ensure that you were in the company of your beloved family. Can you see? Do you understand? I'm hardly as heartless as you, Father. It is all your teaching. Weren't you the one who taught me to be a dutiful daughter? To even sacrifice my life for protecting your interest? Then, how can I abandon my duty even after your death, Father? It _is_ my responsibility to keep my parents happy even in afterlife. Which is why, I packed your _illustrious_ bloodline, soon after him- all your favourites, your heirs. I sacrificed the blood, Father," Her lips curled in a malicious smirk.

"But even now something is lacking, or rather someone...After all these years, finally, only he is left. And I promise to not keep you unhappy for long, Father... I shan't keep you waiting for long. You shall be reunited with your last soon," Her smile faded, and her features were darkened by a scowl, the mask of cheerfulness ripped to reveal her true self, her true feelings, "If not for that fopdoodle, it would have been much sooner. It is frightening to imagine how he goes about his life with the meagre intellect he has! And now I have to wait, so do you. Surely you can be patient for that long, Father? Surely you can do that, can't you? Surely you have that much patience? I know you do," She sighed, "Only a little long, just a little patience and then...The denouement shall be grand- worth the wait, Father. I promise," She vowed, a cruel smile spreading across her face.

"I shall make sure of it."

* * *

 **Ravensdale**

"The Earl of Dunwich."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your uncle, the Earl of Dunwich wishes to end the life of Her Grace," Alistair expounded solemnly, firmly keeping his eyes on the Duke.

"What? His own uncle? But...but why would he...How...How could he do this to his own nephew? How can someone...?"

"On the contrary, Isabella, I have faith in my uncle that he can do anything, cross any line, as long as it brought him more money. Morals, values, decency, they hold no value for him. That man is nothing but a pathetic mercenary through and through," Edward seethed, sheer loathing pounding in his veins.

Isabella trembled in her husband's arms. But her anxiety had nothing do with knowing that her life was in danger. Nay, she quivered due to rage that Edward exuded like a pulsing, beating, tangible entity. To an outsider, his voice would have sounded calm, bland even, as he denounced the Earl of Dunwich's character, as if he was discussing nothing more exciting than weather, but she knew different.

She knew better.

His jaw was clenched, hands balled into fists, and body strung tighter than a bow. His embrace which only moments ago had soothed her distress, turned merciless as he pulled her closer, moulding her petite form to his. He emoted a terrifying fury so fierce that even Isabella, felt a shiver of dread travel down her spine.

She was no stranger to her husband's anger. She had even witnessed him lose every semblance of control during his confrontation with Jacob in her sister's home. Yet never had she felt any apprehension, any trepidation around him...until today, when his fury was not even directed at her.

She pitied the man who was the object of his ire.

Almost.

"It was only recently that we came to know of his involvement," Alistair's gruff monologue jolted her from her distraction, "Our years of perseverance and persistence finally paid, and Liam stumbled on a clandestine meeting of Cain and a man named Sanders, who turned out to be Lord Whitlock's man. That was the first time we came to know about your impending nupital, Your Grace. Sanders told Cain how furious the Earl was that His Grace was marrying you and not Lady Tanya."

"Yes," Edward spat bitterly, "I can imagine how angry my dear uncle must have been to see his years of hard work failing. He always believed that if I married his daughter, I would not only waive the loans he has taken from me, but also my fortune would be his," He explained to Isabella.

"Speaking of fortune," Alistair turned his troubled eyes to the Duke, "Sanders was speaking of some trust fund, Your Grace. About how once Edward was dead, Lord Whitlock would probably gain the entire money. I do not know what that was about, but I'm sure that if you would dig it up, you would unearth something of import."

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold onto the remnants of his patience.

"As it was, Sanders proposed that since it was only a matter of time before Edward died, Cain come up with some way to...remove the obstacle," He added hesitantly.

"The obstacle being my wife!" Edward bit out.

"Yes...though not immediately, for it would have looked suspicious, but they did have designs to make an attempt on Her Grace's life once everything was settled. Lord Whitlock is determined to have you marry his daughter."

"That blasted old codger!" The Duke cursed, gritting his teeth, "I shall destroy that cretin!"

"Edward, calm down!" Isabella cried, trying to wriggle out of his strong hold.

"Where are you going?" He demanded, pulling her closer to him, having an instantaneous effect on her. She stilled, her breath catching somewhere in her throat as she eyed him with disbelief and concern. She knew him well enough to recognise the underlying vulnerability in his steely voice, and it unnerved her. She did not like it, did not like her formidable husband feeling defenceless, especially due to an immoral cur.

"Edward," She murmured, looping her arms around his neck, uncaring of the presence of Garrick, "I am not going anywhere. I just...you need to rein in your temper, Edward. I know this treachery is too much to bear, but...but we have to get to the bottom of this entire debacle. It is imperative, too many lives were destroyed. You suffered so much! And we will do that, together, find every single of them...your culprits...And as for me, I am not afraid, Edward...not as long as I have you. How can anything happen to me when you are with me?"

An untameable, aggressive tidal save of emotions crashed on him, complex and chaotic. Yet, the most powerful and prominent of them all was relief.

Relief that she was still stood by him in support.

Relief that she did not hate him for putting her life in danger.

Relief that she still loved and trusted him after everything he had put her through.

Relief that she had no desire to leave him.

"You are not responsible for this, Edward. None of this. Those...those sadistic blackguards are. Do not torment yourself for something you did not do!" She growled, reading his thoughts with ease.

Her impassioned plea snapped the remaining shreds of his control.

Hauling his wife closer, he crashed his lips to hers. Fuelled by anger and gratitude, his mouth moved against hers urgently, possessively leaving her gasping for breath.

"Edward," Isabella panted, startled by his intensity.

"Isabella," He breathed, catching his breath, "I swear that I shan't allow anything to happen to you."

"I know. I know." She pushed him slightly, and cupped his cheeks, "I trust you," She reiterated with a firm conviction, "I always have."

"You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Isabella. The wretched existence I eked before I met you..." Edward whispered softly so that only she heard, yet there was no denying the vehemence in his voice, "You are my reward...my incomparably precious reward for all those years of sufferings."

* * *

 **White's, London**

"So how is your English Rose, James?" Lord Thaddeus Bondeau boomed, invoking many drunken guffaws.

"Yes, yes, tell us, James, does she still ignore you as thoroughly as she used to do before?" Mr. Marcus Hamilton jeered, taking a generous gulp from his cup.

"I would wager, she does. She's a difficult filly!"

"Aye, but she has a fine figure...fully suited for fun and frolic as fertile fancy ever formed," Lord William Davenport said, feeling his groin tighten.

"She is a breathing, animated Venus de' Medici*," Lord Thaddeus leered, "and so is her sister, Belle is her name no?" He gurgled, "Did she not spurn you too, James?"

"Be careful, James, else you shall lose this fine bird too, just like her sister!"

"The new Duchess? That Edward is one lucky bastard! Oh, what wouldn't I give to feast on those snowy breasts. And that voluptuous body of hers..."

"Oh, I wonder if her Mons Veneris is..."

But James heard no more. An ugly scowl contorted Lord James Whitlock's face as his friends taunted and laughed at him. His blood boiled at the ignominy he was being subjected to because of those wenches...the wicked sisters.

"Enough!" He banged his tankard on the table, spilling his port, and stood up. His chair crashed to the floor, the ruckus silencing his friends.

"Enough!" He snarled, and tottered on usteady feet to the door of the private room he and his friends had commandeered for themselves in White's.

"How dare you mock me? I am Viscount Rutelage, the future Earl of Dunwich, and you...you..." James spat on the floor, swaying, "You shan't laugh when I shall make Rosalie my bride, when I shall possess all her wealth." Wrenching the door open, he all but fell out, startling patrons on the other side. On the threshold, he turned to his friends, a savage snarl marring his face.

"That whore is mine...and this time I shall make sure of it!"

* * *

 **Cullen's townhouse, London**

Lord Emmett Cullen was disturbed.

Long after arriving home from White's, he sat staring at the dying embers in the hearth, lost in his thought. He had been at White's accompanied by his friends when James Whitlock had stumbled out of a room, making demeaning proclaimation about some unfortunate woman.

Although the repulsive language was not uncommon, or even surprising coming from that libertine, yet Lord Emmett had felt something more.

A foreboding.

Something told him that it was no random stranger that James was talking about. No, it was someone he knew, someone he was acquainted with, someone who was family.

Lady Rosalie Barrington...the new object of attention and fascination of the ton. The most attractive and sought after heiress of the elite social circle.

As if her immense wealth was insufficient for attracting gold diggers, her beauty enhanced her desirability manifold, making her a goal worth coveting. It was no secret that uncountable gentlemen were hankering after her for marriage, and James was no different. As it was, Jasper had already warned them of his elder brother's nefarious intentions pertaining to the said Lady.

Lord Emmett rubbed his chest.

He did not like it, he did not like it at all. The very thought of Lady Rosalie coming to any harm perturbed him.

 _That poor woman has suffered enough in the hands of Royce Barrington._ He soured at the thought of the late Duke of Wiltshire.

Although many were intimidated by the cool inscrutability of Lady Rosalie (though they would never admit being intimidated by a Lady), he knew better. Years of living with a boy as difficult and taciturn as his cousin Edward, taught the young Viscount the art of discerning the subtle nuances of human emotions. His uncanny ability of correctly judging characters was usually unrecognised by people due to his agreeable personality.

Therefore, he had no trouble in reading the austere Duchess of Wiltshire. He did not find it difficult to look beyond her stoicism to perceive an ocean of pain that Lady Rosalie harboured within her.

She did not deserve it, did not deserve the cruelty she had endured.

 _But not this time._ He swore feeling protective of her.

 _This time I will protect her. I have to protect her...ensure her safety. She deserves better._

* * *

 **Regency trivia:**

 ***** Dalliances and affairs even among married women, especially those belonging to richer sections of the society were not uncommon. Some widows and married women (as long as their husbands weren't aware) 'scratched the itch' with married and unmarried men alike.

* **Venus de' Medici-** Venus de' Medici or Medici Venus is a Hellenistic marble sculpture depicting the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite. It is one of the world's most celebrated classical statues. It depicts the goddess in a momentary fugitive pose, as if surprised in the act of emerging from the sea, to which the dolphin at her feet alludes.

 **Reviews?**


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